The Journal
by SqueakGirl
Summary: For a high school project, Kyle decides to follow his friend Kenny around as he plays Mysterion. But a serious accident forces Kyle to suffer at Cartman's whim. Can the boys find a way to reconcile the catastrophe and bring things back to normal? Style
1. The Assignment

Here is chapter one of The Journal a South Park fan fic and my very first multi-chaptered story. This was an idea I had rolling around in my head for awhile, and I hope readers enjoy.

**Summary:** For a high school project Kyle decides to follow his friend Kenny around as he plays Mysterion. But a serious accident forces Kyle to suffer at Cartman's whim. Can the boys find a way to reconcile the catastrophe and bring things back to normal?

Bad summary I know, but I'm not very good at them.

**Rating:** T because of language cause duh it's South Park

**Pairings:** Stan x Kyle and more if you squint, but that's all subjective

**Disclaimer:** I do not own South Park or it's characters. This is just for fun and for writing practice.

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><p><strong>Chapter One: The Assignment<strong>

Kyle Broflovski watched as the clock, hanging above his teacher's desk, moved its lethargic minute hand closer to the number twelve. Five minutes until three o'clock and Psychology would come to an end and school would let out for the weekend.

Slowly as to not garner attention from his teacher, the redhead closed his notebook and slid it carefully into his bag. Next to him his Super Best Friend Stanley Marsh closed his thick textbook and dropped his mechanical pencil into his own backpack. Both boys gave the other a quick smile and turned their eyes back to the front.

Four more minutes until class let out.

His back to the students, the Psych teacher droned on and on, scratching notes upon the blackboard. He seemed completely oblivious to the lack of attention his students now gave him. Token faked a cough from his seat behind Kyle and Jimmy Vulmar grabbed his crutches preparing for the mass rush on the door when the bell finally rang.

A thin hand with purple colored nails shot into the air. Three minutes until class let out. Despite the silence from the other students, the growing tension the raised hand caused echoed and reverberated throughout the room.

Glancing to his right past his best friend, Kyle watched as Wendy Testabuger's hand wavered in the air. Part of him almost laughed at the girl, the teacher's back was still firmly facing the room.

"Mr. Michaels," Wendy called, waving her hand back and forth. Next to her Clyde jumped awake.

The thin, grey-haired teacher slowly pivoted on his flat feet. Facing the class he slumped his shoulders and brought his wrinkled hand up to push his silver-rimmed glasses higher up his nose.

"Yes, Miss Thestle?"

"It's Testabuger, sir," Wendy corrected bringing her hand down. "I was just wondering when you were going to pass out the assignment sheet? You said you'd tell us about the upcoming project?"

In unison the whole class groaned. Stan eyed his ex-girlfriend warily and Eric Cartman tossed several wads of paper at the black haired girl's back.

"'Ey, skank, we almost got away with no homework!" Cartman growled.

Kyle frowned too. He raised his eyebrows at Stan as if to emphasize Eric's words by implying 'it would have been nice without homework for once.'

Stan took the look a different way. "Dude, I can't do anything about her. She never listened to me even when we dated."

Kyle laughed.

Mr. Michaels was talking again. He'd pulled out a large stack of papers and began handing the packets out to the class.

"Thank you, Miss Testing," said Mr. Michaels.

"Testabuger," Wendy corrected again, leaning her chin on the palm of her hand.

"Right, right," Mr. Michaels nodded, not really looking at the girl now. "Everyone, I want you to read over the instructions carefully. You must pick one person to shadow this upcoming week. It can be a parent or grandparent. You can also choose to shadow someone you know in town. Just remember you must write down their job experiences or daily activities. Feel free to ask questions about their decision making and even thought process. Let them know of course that this is for your Psychology class and that you are hoping to explore the behavior of an average person. Be sure that when you turn in your journals, you've written a five page analysis of your person's behavior using at least ten vocabulary words we discussed in class. Your journals are due in two weeks. Have fun."

Bending down beside his chair, the old teacher lifted a large stack of red, blue, and green journals. He waddled over to Kyle's desk and offered him a book. Kyle took a green one and, Mr. Michaels moved on to Stan who picked blue. As each kid received their little journal, they were allowed to pack the rest of their school supplies and leave the classroom.

Following his dark-haired best friend out the door, Kyle swung his backpack over his shoulder and entered the busy hallway. Reaching their lockers, Stan twirled the combination and pulled open the beige painted door. He stuffed some books inside and gathered the ones he'd need for the weekend. He flipped through the pages of his blue journal.

"Who you gonna follow?" Kyle asked kneeling in front of his own locker to reorganize some of his notebooks.

"Thinking maybe my dad. I can talk about the geologist stuff he does, you know," Stan said shrugging his shoulders and stuffing the little book inside his bag. Kyle straightened up, hoisting his bag onto his own back. He closed his locker. "What about you?" Stan asked his friend.

Kyle mimicked the other boy's shrug. "Not sure yet. Definitely not one of my parents though. I don't think I could stand hanging out with my mom for any great length of time."

"Yeah, cause she's a bitch."

Kyle and Stan stiffened. Eric Cartman had barreled over to the other two and threw a fat arm around Kyle's shoulder. He squeezed the redhead's neck in what appeared to be a playful manner, but Kyle shook himself free immediately.

"Don't call my mom a bitch, fatass!" Kyle growled. Cartman laughed as Kyle curled his hands into fists.

"Calm down, Kahl. Don't get your panties in a bunch." Cartman shoved the smaller teen out of his way and threw open his own locker. Kyle stumbled into Stan who caught his friend, steadying him.

"Dude, quit being a jackass. It's Friday, we don't need that shit," Stan said his voice monotone. He watched Eric pull out several of his own textbooks, slamming them into his bag.

"I was just stating a fact, Stan," Cartman continued, a smirk growing on his face. "Kahl's mom's a big fat Jew bitch –"

THUMP.

Cartman reeled backwards, tripping over his own bag and landing hard upon his wide rear end. Kyle stood over him, swinging his backpack in front of the fat boy's face.

"Say that again, fatass," Kyle hissed between gritted teeth. "I dare you to say it again, you fat fuck –"

"Mr. Broflovski!" shouted a voice from behind the small group.

All three teens turned to see Mr. Mackey's skinny form march over. He placed his hands on his thin hips and glared down at Kyle who still held his swinging backpack. Cartman smirked, but quickly changed his expression to that of contorted fear as he produced a couple of fake tears. He rubbed at his face. Despite the fact that Eric Cartman was now seventeen years old, he still felt the need to rely on the theatrics. He pulled himself to his feet and scrunched up his face. He didn't completely break out into sobs, but sniffled and looked pathetic enough that Mr. Mackey nodded to him sympathetically.

Turning back to Kyle, the guidance counselor said, "I am very disappointed in you, Kyle. You're usually such a good kid. But I do believe this isn't the first time you threatened Mr. Cartman."

Cartman gave a few hiccups, but grinned over Mr. Mackey's shoulder at Kyle.

"Mr. Mackey, Cartman was egging him on," Stan defended. "He called Kyle's mom a bitch."

"Now, Stanley, you should know that retaliation and violence are never the answer, m'kay," Mr. Mackey stated folding his arms. "Kyle should have just turned the other cheek."

"But Mr. Mackey," Stan and Kyle began together.

"No buts, boys. M'kay," the counselor interrupted. "Kyle, you go down to the principal's office. I'll be there in a minute."

Grinding his teeth the redhead swung his bag over his shoulder and gave Stan a fleeting look. The dark-haired boy reached out a quick hand and patted Kyle on the arm. Narrowing his eyes Stan nodded in understanding at Kyle's annoyed yet forlorn expression. This wouldn't be the first time the two best friend's afternoon would be ruined by Eric T. Cartman.

"See you later, then," Kyle mumbled. Stan smiled.

"I'll see you at my house later then?"

"Yeah."

The two parted and Kyle trudged down the hall in the direction of the offices. When Mr. Mackey departed too, Cartman roared with laughter thumping his fat fist against the lockers. Several students who'd stopped to listen in on the counselor's intervention eyed Cartman warily, walking quickly away down the hall.

"You're a bastard, Cartman," Stan said shoving the larger boy into a trashcan.

"Yeah, but at least I don't got detention." And with that said the fat teen strolled down the hall and out of sight leaving Stan standing alone.

Mr. Mackey's office was small with plaques and motivational posters hanging on every wall. A large filing cabinet stood behind the desk and several piles of books lay scattered upon the floor next to the door.

Having headed straight to the principal's office, Kyle had then been directed to wait in Mr. Mackey's office. He'd passed Craig who like always sat outside the principal's door, scowling. Kyle caught his eye and the black-haired boy flipped him off. Sighing Kyle sat down in front of Mr. Mackey's desk and waited. It wasn't long before the thin counselor appeared. He sat down before Kyle and swept his desk clear of a few napkins and a coffee cup.

Clearing his throat Mr. Mackey said, "Kyle, this is the third time I've seen you in here. As a Junior in High School with your mature attitude, I'm surprised these squabbles have become so frequent, m'kay."

"Yeah, and each time it's been Cartman's fault," Kyle couldn't help but snap. "These past couple of weeks he's been fighting with me more and more frequently."

Mr. Mackey shook his head not really listening to the redhead. "It's becoming a problem, young man. You need to learn to control your temper, m'kay. Now, I'm aware that you and Eric don't tend to see eye to eye…"

"That's an understatement," Kyle murmured under his breath.

"But," Mr. Mackey's voice rose. "That does not mean you can just hit him. Fighting in school is bad, m'kay."

"I know, Mr. Mackey." Kyle hung his head. "But he was insulting my mother." He glanced up imploringly, hoping to garner some sympathy from the thin man.

The counselor rubbed his chin. "Well, that's still no excuse, Kyle."

"I bet you wouldn't like to hear your mom called a bitch, would you Mr. Mackey?" Kyle asked raising his head slightly higher.

"Well, no, Kyle."

"So you understand?" Kyle said his voice sounding hopeful.

"That shouldn't excuse behavior. If we all just gave into our anger, well that would be bad, m'kay."

Kyle could see there was no way of working out of his punishment. However, fortune seemed to smile on the redhead, because Mr. Mackey decided not to call his mother. It appeared the counselor, having dealt with Mrs. Broflovski on several different occasions, did not feel the need in incur the woman's wrath. Thankful for his luck Kyle only had to deal with a week's after school detention. He could pawn off the excuse to his parents that he'd be staying with Stan in the late afternoons. It wouldn't seem unusual in the least. After all Stan and Kyle had been spending a lot more time together anyway.

Finally excused from Mr. Mackey's presence, Kyle slid out the door and into the waiting room. Craig still sat slouched in his chair outside the principal's office. He raised his head to glare at Kyle and once more flipped up his middle finger. Ever since the Peruvian Flute Band fiasco, Kyle found that Craig's dislike for him and the rest of his friends had grown ten-fold. Craig never talked to them and only acknowledged their presence with his middle finger.

Outside the school Kyle walked to the bike rack and knelt to unlock his chain. Down on his knees he saw that both his bike's tires were flat. Cursing Kyle wrenched the bicycle from its perch and pushed it off in the direction of his house. Passing by the dumpsters and recycle bins on the school grounds, the redhead heard a loud thump as the dumpster's lid swung open. Curious Kyle stopped and waited for whatever was inside to crawl out.

A large bundle of orange rags leaned over the edge of the dumpster and tumbled to the ground. The orange rags lifted itself up from its hunches, dusting off its pants with brown gloved hands.

"Kenny?" Kyle called steering his bike over towards his friend. The other boy stiffened casting a wary eye towards the other boy.

"Hey, Kyle," the tall blond boy mumbled. He wore a dirty orange parka several sizes too small. His ankles peeked out from beneath his pant legs and a large hole in his jeans showed Kyle a blue and green bruise. Kenny shuffled his feet not looking directly at his red haired friend.

"Dude, what are you doing?" Kyle asked his voice unnecessarily soft. Kyle knew what Kenny had been doing, scrounging for food. It wouldn't have been the first time the blond boy had done it. Once when Kyle and Stan had been eating at Shakey's Pizza, they discovered Kenny perusing the restaurant's tables, snatching up pieces of crust and bits of breadstick that had yet to be cleared off the table. Stan had offered to buy Kenny his own pizza but the blond boy had shaken his hooded head and scampered out the door.

Kenny didn't reply right away to Kyle's question. He looked over his shoulder at the dumpster and then back to his friend.

"Hey, I was heading to Stan's. His mom was going to make fried chicken, I'm sure he won't mind if – "

"Thank you, Kyle," Kenny said interrupting the boy. He patted Kyle on the shoulder, smiling down at him. Despite his malnutrition, Kenny had inherited his father's genes and now towered over the three other boys. Cartman rivaled his size, but more so in girth than in height.

"Dude, I'm sure she wouldn't mind…" Kyle tried again even feebler than before.

"I'm good, dude," Kenny said smiling. "I was just looking for my retainer."

"Kenny, you never had braces." Kyle was going to say 'you could never afford braces' but thought better on it.

"But I have a retainer," he said cheerfully.

"…alright." Kyle decided he didn't need to see the object for proof.

"Well, if you change your mind about Stan's…." Kyle trailed off.

"Nah, I'm good, Kyle." Kenny glanced around him and leaned down closer to Kyle's ear. "I'll be patrolling tonight. The weekend's always the time for mischief."

Kyle would have laughed at the seriousness in Kenny's voice, but he was well aware of what the other boy implied. It had become like a job for Kenny. Every weekend the blond boy dawned his Mysterion costume to patrol the down town area, vigilantly watching out for South Park's citizens. Nothing crazy had occurred since the whole Cthulhu incident, but that didn't stop Kenny from bounding from rooftop to rooftop scouring the streets for criminal activity. Despite the blond boy's grungy underfeed appearance; Kyle couldn't help believing that his friend truly did make the world a better place. Or at least down town South Park. It also helped that on several occasions Kenny had tattled on Cartman for his various underhanded schemes to the police and Eric's mother, foiling the fat boy's plans again and again.

"Okay, good luck then," Kyle beamed. Kenny nodded and began moving down the street towards the more rural parts of South Park. Before Kenny was completely out of sight, Kyle's brain kicked an idea into his head.

"Hey, Kenny! Wait up!" Kyle dropped his bike and chased after his tall friend. Pausing, the grungy boy turned about and faced the redhead.

"What?" Kenny asked.

"C-can I follow you?" Kyle gasped between breaths. Kenny tilted his head to the side.

"Follow me? What do you mean?"

Kyle explained the Psychology project he had to complete. Often skipping classes, Kenny did not take a lot of the same subjects as his friends, opting to spend his time in remedial courses so he could catch up on the sleep he lost from his vigilante night excursions.

Pondering the prospect of having Kyle tail him about as he fought crime intrigued Kenny. He had never seen himself as someone worth writing about, even though his first appearance in the city as Mysterion had caused a stir. Now, Kenny acted more in the background, preferring to blend in with the night and due his job quietly and effectively without notice. But he never ran into anything more dangerous than a few drunken teens vandalizing convenient stores or thieves making off with merchandise from the nearest supermarket.

"Maybe," Kenny finally said after thinking it over. Kyle brightened.

"Aw, sweet, dude."

"Not tonight though," Kenny quickly added. "I want to prepare. Can I do that?"

"Uhh, well I guess as long as you don't plan stuff out," Kyle began. "See it's supposed to be just like the 'day in the life' type thing."

"I see."

"Yeah."

"Well, I'll get back to you on it. Is that okay?" Kenny said backing up and waving. "I've got to run." And with that said the poor boy sprinted down the street and out of sight.

Kyle stood for several minutes watching the spot Kenny had vacated. The redhead worried if he'd offended Kenny somehow. It was hard to tell. Kenny rarely showed emotion and more often than not it was in his Mysterion persona. Had Kyle touched a nerve? Kenny didn't like having his life scrutinized. Was he afraid Kyle would reveal his broken home life to the class? Did Kenny think Kyle would use him as some charity case? Kyle shook his head. Nah, Kenny didn't get worried over shit like that. Kenny didn't worry about anything.

Reassuring himself that he wasn't sticking his nose where it didn't belong, Kyle headed towards Stan's place.

Fifteen minutes later Kyle found himself knocking on the Marsh's front door. He'd called home and told Ike that he'd be staying overnight at Stan's again. Ike promised he'd relay the message to their parents and Kyle hung up.

The door swung open to reveal Mr. Marsh holding a beer in one hand and the TV remote in the other.

"Hello, Kyle," the adult slurred. He took a swig of his beer. "Stan's upstairs. Tell him dinner will be ready in half an hour."

Mr. Marsh stepped back to let the boy in. Kicking off his shoes Kyle darted to the staircase and took the steps two at a time till he reached the landing. He sprinted to Stan's room and knocked.

"Come in," Stan called from inside.

Kyle entered closing the door behind him. He dropped his backpack beside Stan's desk. The other boy sat cross-legged upon his bed, thumbing his way through a football magazine. He sported his letterman jacket with a fresh new patch sewn on the left sleeve. Stan looked up and smiled.

"Your dad says dinner'll be ready in half an hour," the redhead informed.

Stan nodded, glancing at his alarm clock. "Did you lock the door behind you?"

"Oh, right," Kyle crossed back to the bedroom door and turned the lock. He waited until he heard an audible click and then retreated to the bed. He flopped down beside Stan, turning to stare at the other.

Without a word Stan leaned over and grabbed Kyle by the shoulders and placed a chaste kiss on the other boy's lips. He pushed the redhead down until they both lay facing one another their heads resting on the same pillow. Stan threw an arm about Kyle's waist and pulled the other closer.

"So," Stan said running his other hand through Kyle's curly hair, "what did Mr. Mackey have to say?"

"I've got detention for a week."

"Dude, that sucks," Stan said sympathetic. Kyle nodded, pressing his forehead against Stan's.

"Fuck Cartman," Kyle growled.

Stan chuckled while Kyle glared at him.

"I hope, as my boyfriend, you defended my honor by finishing what I started: kicking the crap out of that lardass," Kyle said narrowing his eyes. Stan rubbed his nose turning away from the other teen.

"Dude, don't call me that," Stan said staring at the ceiling.

Kyle blinked. "What you mean 'boyfriend'? Isn't that what you are, Stan?" Kyle rose up onto his elbow and looked down at the other boy, narrowing his eyebrows dangerously.

"It sounds gay when you say it like that…" Stan mumbled.

"Dude, seriously? What the fuck do you think we are?"

"Uh, Super _Super _Best Friends…with benefits."

Kyle yanked the pillow from out beneath Stan's head and smacked it across the other teen's face. Stan scrambled to a sitting position, but Kyle swung the pillow again.

"Dude, stop! STOP!"

"Say I'm your boyfriend, Stan," Kyle said grinning as he pulled the pillow back for another swing. "Say it!"

Stan hushed him. "Dude, not so loud. My dad will hear."

"So?"

"Would you want your dad knowing about it?"

Kyle shrugged. His dad could be a pretty laid back guy unlike Mr. Marsh.

"Okay, fine what about your mom?"

Kyle froze. He dropped the pillow to the ground.

"You have a point," he mumbled reluctantly. "Who knows how she'd react."

"I know right," Stan said inching closer to Kyle now that the redhead had dropped the pillow. Stan wrapped his arms around the other boy and pulled him in for another kiss.

When Kyle leaned back to breathe, he said, "But I hate this sneaking around shit. Part of me's itching to tell someone. Or else I'll go crazy."

Stan nodded. "But who?"

"Not Cartman," Kyle responded automatically. His red eyebrows knitted together and his teeth began to grind. Stan laughed again.

"Yeah, like we'd tell the fatass anything important or secret."

"What about Kenny?" Kyle offered thinking back to his friend who must be somewhere down town with his underwear on the outside of his purple sweatpants, toting a mask and cape.

"Maybe," Stan conceded. "He's cool."

Kyle nodded. "Yeah. He wouldn't like freak out or anything."

"True."

Stan hugged Kyle tighter and pressed their lips together. Kyle wrapped his arms about Stan's neck, tickling the hair at the base of the other boy's neck with his fingers. Stan sighed bringing his hands down towards Kyle's hips, causing the other boy to jump.

"Dude!" Kyle gasped.

"What?" Stan sniggered.

"Warn me, jackass."

Stan rolled his eyes. "You like it."

A knock at the door caused both boys to jump and fumble apart until they crashed to the floor. Stan landed on top of Kyle, elbowing the other in the ribs and Kyle instinctively kicked upward knocking the wind out of Stan. They lay crumpled beside Stan's bed for a minute regaining their senses when the door knocked again.

"Stanley," called Mrs. Marsh. "Supper's ready."

"T-thanks, Mom," Stan managed to gasp. Kyle laughed getting to his feet. He reached out a hand and pulled his 'boyfriend' to his feet.

"Sorry about that, dude," Kyle said sheepishly pointing to Stan's stomach. The black-haired boy shrugged, rubbing at his belly.

"Come on, I'm starving."

After dinner the two boys played a round of Guitar Hero. Stan's dad sat on the couch behind them trying to relay advice on guitar playing. But after several beers, Mr. Marsh seemed to only recall the beginning fingering position on _Carry On My Wayward Son_. Every new song Stan or Kyle played; Mr. Marsh would push himself off the couch and force either teen to move his fingers to play the Kansas song.

"Then just strum it like this, Kyle," Mr. Marsh attempted to explain, cutting the air with his hand as he mocked playing a guitar.

"Dad, you don't strum a Guitar Hero guitar," Stan called over from where he'd sat down on the couch. He pinched the bridge of his nose. "And Kyle's playing _Don't Stop Believin'_ now.

"Stanley, I know what I'm doing," Mr. Marsh assured, taking Kyle's hand in his own and forcing the boy to run his fingers over the controller's non-existent strings.

"Uh, Mr. Marsh, I really don't need help," Kyle said embarrassed, glancing back at Stan for help.

"Randy!" Mrs. Marsh called from the kitchen. "Leave those boys alone and come to bed."

"Aww, but Sharon," Mr. Marsh wheedled.

"Now!"

The man shuffled out of the living room leaving the two boys sighing in relief.

Kyle removed the plastic guitar from around his neck and placed in on the ground beside the television.

"I'm kinda through with Guitar Hero, dude," Kyle said yawning. Stan nodded.

"Yeah, let's head upstairs."

Brushing his teeth several minutes later, Kyle leaned closer to the mirror tugging at a random curl that had fallen over his eye. He sighed yanking at the offensive piece of hair trying to tuck it back up into the mass of curls on top of his head. Stan chuckled, standing at the doorway and watching.

"I hate my hair," Kyle said through a mouthful of toothpaste.

"It's not so bad," Stan said moving to stand beside Kyle. He reached up and ran a hand through the other teen's hair. "I like that it's springy. It's not boring like mine."

Kyle gave Stan a sideways glance taking in his boyfriend's straight black hair and odd little cowlick which stuck up in the back.

"Bet it's easier to manage, though," Kyle challenged.

Stan didn't respond. Instead he playfully shoved the redhead away from the sink and grabbed his own toothbrush. Stan grinned scrubbing his teeth back and forth. Kyle stuck his tongue out at the other. He reached up and yanked at a few strands of hair at the base of Stan's neck. The other boy raised an eyebrow at Kyle's movements. Kyle's face had turned thoughtful.

"Something up?" Stan asked spitting out his toothpaste and reaching for a paper cup.

"I saw Kenny today, digging in a dumpster."

Stan froze, the water gushing out over his tiny paper cup and over onto his fist.

"Dude," Stan whispered.

"I told him he should come hang out with us tonight. But he said he had Mysterion stuff to do," Kyle informed.

Stan was quiet for a moment. He brought his water to his lips and sipped thoughtfully. He spit again and tossed the small cup away. Turning to Kyle he shrugged letting out a sigh.

"Well I guess if he wants to be by himself, we should let him," Stan offered exiting the bathroom. Kyle followed right behind.

"But, dude, he was scrounging for food!" Kyle said his voice high. He held out his hands as if pleading to Stan.

"Is that what he was doing?" Stan asked flopping down onto his bed and pulling a Terrence and Phillip comic towards him.

"What else would he be doing?" Kyle said sitting down beside Stan.

"What did he say he was doing, Kyle?"

Kyle scoffed. "Looking for his retainer. As if he could afford braces in the first place."

"Maybe he just needed the retainer. Or he had invisible braces. I've heard Shelly complain to Mom and Dad that she never got the chance to use those kinds," Stan offered his attention on his comic. Kyle could tell the other boy's interest in Kenny was waning.

"Stan, do you really think Kenny can afford any of that?"

Stan stared up at the redhead. He ran his fingers through his own hair and sighed.

"Dude, if Kenny wanted our help with food or anything like that he'd come to us. He knows he can trust us," Stan said sitting up and putting an arm around Kyle's shoulder.

"He's stubborn. He's too proud to admit he needs help," Kyle fumed clenching his fist.

Stan sighed pulling Kyle closer. "You're stubborn too you know."

"Am not!" Kyle retorted pushing Stan away. "I think this is a serious problem, Stan. We should do something."

"And have Kenny pissed off at us, no thanks, dude," Stan said waving his hands. "Like I said, if he asks me for help, I help. But I'm not going to go sticking my nose into his personal shit."

"You stick your nose into my personal shit," Kyle accused.

"That's different."

"How so?"

"You're my boyfriend," Stan said. He realized what he'd just claimed and clamped a hand over his mouth.

"Aha!" Kyle laughed pointing at Stan.

"That sounded so gay," Stan sighed planting his face in his pillow.

"Well, duh, dude," Kyle chuckled, flopping down on top of Stan and burying his face in the crook of the other boy's neck.

"Dude, get off, the door's not locked."

"Who cares!" Kyle all but shouted. Stan rolled over pinning Kyle down.

"I do." He bolted out of bed and turned the lock on the door. "There."

"Pussy," Kyle hissed.

Stan raised an eyebrow at Kyle. "Pussy, am I? Here's a fun scenario for you, Kyle: Oh, hello Mrs. Broflovski, did you know your son and I have been dating for the past year. Oh, why yes, Mrs. Broflovski, I _do_ believe that makes him _gay_. Why hasn't he told his _own mother_ this? Well, I'm sure he's got a good explanation for that, Mrs. Broflovski."

Kyle's eyebrows narrowed dangerously, but Stan could see the slight fear leaking into the teen's green eyes.

"You wouldn't just tell her like that would you?" Kyle asked trying to keep his voice level.

Stan laughed. "Maybe."

"Stan."

The black haired boy flopped down beside the other. He curled his right arm around the other teen's waist and pulled Kyle closer.

"Don't worry; I wouldn't do that to you. Your mom scares me too," Stan laughed. Kyle smiled sheepishly.

"She can be a pain," Kyle offered.

"One might say a bitch, really."

"Dude!"

"Sorry, sorry."

Stan's eyes cast about the room for change in subject. His gaze fell on Kyle's backpack where he could see the green journal peeking out from under the bag's flap.

"So who you doing the Psych project on?" Stan asked running a hand through Kyle's curly hair once more.

Closing his eyes, Kyle replied, "Kenny."

"Really? Is this why you've been spying on him in dumpsters."

"I wasn't spying. He sort of just popped out of the garbage as I walked by," Kyle explained. "Besides I guess I'm going to be writing more about Mysterion than Kenny."

"Actually that sounds pretty cool. Kind of wish I hadn't asked my dad to be in my project," Stan mused. Kyle giggled.

"Your dad's such an r-tard."

"Hey, don't call my dad that. If I can't call your mom a bitch, you can't call my dad retarded."

"But it's true," Kyle chuckled rolling away from Stan.

"Which part my dad being retarded or your mom being a bitch?"

"Touché."

* * *

><p>The next day Kyle awoke in Stan's bed with the other boy snoring quietly beside him. Kyle wormed his way out from beneath Stan's arm and slid onto the floor. He crawled over to his jeans which he'd tossed onto the floor last night after putting on his pajamas. He searched the front pockets until he found his cell phone. He flipped it open and dialed Kenny's house. Five rings echoed in the redhead's ear before someone picked up.<p>

"Hello?" said a drawling female voice. "What do ya want?"

"Is Kenny there?" Kyle said softly, glancing at Stan's sleeping form.

"Hold on a sec." There was a pause and then, "KENNY! KENNY, DAMMIT GET YOUR ASS OVER TO THE PHONE!"

Kyle had to pull his own phone away from his ear as Kenny's mother's shrieking voice crashed down through his eardrums. Kyle could hear scurried footsteps and some more cursing. The phone was handed soundly from mother to son and then Kenny's tired voice cracked through.

"Hello?"

"Hey, dude, it's me. So you think anymore on what I asked you yesterday?"

There was a pause. "Oh, yeah. Sure."

"Really?"

"I don't think it'll hurt anything. So did you want to come over now and like watch me eat breakfast or something?" Kenny laughed through the line. Kyle smiled.

"Well, I was hoping to watch you do Mysterion stuff. Like climb buildings and beat up bad guys and shit. That would be a lot cooler," Kyle said. Another pause from Kenny's end of the line.

"I guess that's good too," Kenny said. "But do you still want to hang out anyway?"

Kyle glanced over at Stan who'd turned over in his sleep. "Well, not right now. I'm at Stan's." Kyle flushed. "We were having a sleepover."

"Oh, that's cool. So maybe later, then?"

"Sure, dude."

"I'll call you later about the Mysterion thing? Okay?"

"Uh, sure."

The phone went dead. Kenny had hung up.

Kyle spent the rest of the day with Stan. The two ventured out of the house and down to the mall. They met up with Token, Jimmy, and Clyde and perused the arcades. Clyde lost all his quarters at a fighting game against one of the Raisin's girl. Token, Stan and Kyle wouldn't let the brunet hear the end of it. Clyde looked on the verge of tears until Kyle threw a friendly arm around him and handed him a roll of quarters. Later at the food court, Jimmy complained to one of the mall cops that he should be allowed to stand in the front of the line at the burger joint because of his handicap. Bringing the other four boys up the line with him, Jimmy winked at Stan and Kyle.

"W-w-works every time, fellas," Jimmy laughed. Token and Clyde high fived behind the mall cop's back.

"Jimmy, you rock," Stan announced.

"N-naturally."

Having acquired their food, the five picked a table secluded from the loud families and screechy preteens that crowded the mall on a Saturday afternoon. Kyle was just about to take a bite of his chicken sandwich when a wad of napkins hit him square in the nose. Looking up he saw Cartman standing opposite behind Token and Clyde.

"Sup, Jew," Cartman crowed.

"Go away, fatass," Stan said not looking up at the larger boy.

"Aww, come on, guys, why didn't you invite me to hang out too?" Cartman shoved his way in between Clyde and Token, forcing the former to fall out of his seat and spill his French fries.

"B-because y-you're a-an asshole, Cartman," Jimmy scowled. He moved his own lunch tray farther away from the overweight teen.

"I saw what you did over there, Jimmy," Cartman said lowering his voice and leaning towards the handicapped boy.

Jimmy narrowed his eyes. "W-what?"

"Pretending you're all helpless to cut in line. Shame on you, Jimmy, I thought you were _handi-capable_," Cartman said placing a hand over his heart.

"Oh, shut up, Cartman. If Jimmy had let you cut in line too, you wouldn't have complained," Kyle snapped.

"Yeah," Stan agreed. The other boys nodded.

"Whateva, I'm still disappointed in Jimmy," Cartman continued pretending he hadn't been told off. Clyde still sat on the floor looking up at his now occupied seat.

"Y-you don't give t-two s-s-shits about me, fatass," Jimmy countered picking the pepperonis off his pizza.

"Bet your parents wouldn't like to hear that their son is taking advantage of people," Cartman said grabbing a handful of Clyde's fries and shoving them into his fat mouth.

"What are you five?" Token spoke up. "You going to tattle?"

"Yeah, fatass, I think you're losing your touch. You just seem bent on getting people detentions and groundings. What happened to respecting your 'authoritah'?" Kyle scoffed.

"Shut up, Jew," Cartman growled. "Bet you wouldn't like me telling your bitch of a mom all your dirty secrets."

Stan choked on his soda. He hit himself several times in the chest, his eyes watering as he glanced up at Cartman. The larger boy hadn't missed the reaction. He narrowed his pudgy eyes and turned back to Kyle.

"I wonder which secret I should tell her, Kahl?" Cartman whispered.

Under the table Kyle grabbed Stan's hand and gave it a squeeze. He glared at the fat boy.

"You've got nothing on me, fatass," Kyle seethed.

"Do too."

"Prove it," Kyle challenged.

Cartman pushed himself out of Clyde's seat, towering over the table.

"Oh, I got shit on all of you assholes."

Kyle stood up too. "You've got nothing, Cartman. These are empty threats. So quit bothering us and get the fuck out. You know where the door is."

The two enemies glared at one another for several more seconds. Kyle's hands, clenched in fists, were raised ready to strike. Cartman leaned back jamming his own fists in the pockets of his jeans. He huffed and turned his back on the other boy.

"Just you wait, Kahl, I'll get something really good on you, and then you'll be sorry."

"You sound like a child," Kyle countered his voice level. He crossed his arms. "Just leave, fatass."

Cartman didn't turn around. He waddled away out of the dining court his head lowered. Kyle sat back down. He sighed letting his shoulders slump.

"That was a little too easy," Token commented. "Normally, he whines for a good half hour before he's left."

"Yeah," Kyle agreed.

"Do you really think he has anything on us? Like he said?" Stan mumbled his eyes only on Kyle.

The redhead smiled. "Dude, Cartman's got nothing. He was being an ass. Trying to get a rise out of us."

Stan smiled too, but still didn't look completely convinced. He turned away from Kyle and went back to eating his Chinese food. Under the table Kyle reached out his hand once again and took Stan's in his own.

Just then Kyle's cell phone rang. Dropping Stan's hand with a jolt, Kyle plunged his hand into his jean pocket and produced his phone. Flipping it open he said hello.

"Hey, dude, its Kenny," came a familiar voice. "So how about seven tonight? Want to tail me in my rounds of the town?"

Kyle brightened. "Sure, dude! Sounds good, see you then."

"Are you still with Stan?" Kenny asked nonchalantly.

"Yeah we're at the mall with Token, Jimmy, and Clyde. You just missed Cartman being an ass."

Kenny forced a laugh. "I bet you he had to make a scene."

"Nah, he just acted like a big baby and scurried off."

"Good. I hate to see him actually one up you. It's always more fun when you win the fights," Kenny mused.

"Exactly. Well, see you tonight then?"

"Yep."

Kenny hung up first.

Around seven o'clock Kyle headed over to Kenny's house. He passed over the rusted train tracks and skirted around several overgrown bushes. Arriving at his friend's house he took note that little had changed since the two had been kids. A pick-up truck with no bumper or tires rested on the driveway in front of a garage that refused to open and bulged with the neglected junk inside. The lawn unkempt swam with discarded beer bottles and broken plastic cups and plates. The front porch step still cracked down the middle had shifted with age and stuck up at an odd angle. Hanging from its hinges the screen door flapped in the breeze. Kyle sighed taking in the pathetic sight. He raised a fist and rapped loudly upon the front door; its paint peeled under his touch.

Several seconds drifted by before the door swung open. Kenny, still wearing his small orange parka, beamed down at Kyle when he recognized his redheaded friend. The sky had grown dark and little light came from within the dilapidated house. Kenny stepped out onto the porch step closing the door behind him.

"Well, let's go," the taller boy said moving down the lawn. Kyle scurried after pulling out his journal.

"So, where are we going?" Kyle asked as Kenny walked around the garage. Shifting a blue tarp from off an old motorcycle, the blond teen leaned over it searching the ground beside the motorbike. Kenny tossed a helmet to Kyle who stood gaping at the vehicle.

"Where'd you get that?" Kyle said pointing at the motorcycle. Kenny swung one leg over the seat and stood astride the motorbike.

"Bought it last month," Kenny said strapping his own helmet over his blond hair.

"How?" Kyle clapped a hand over his mouth the minute the word echoed from his lips. He blushed. "I mean…how much did it cost?"

Kenny shook his head. "Dude, it's cool. It was used and I worked most of the price off at the garage where I bought it. Plus sometimes people like rewarding their friendly neighborhood superhero."

"Really?" Kyle asked awkwardly swinging his own leg over the motorcycle. He gripped the back of Kenny's parka tight.

Jumping up and slamming down, Kenny kicked the bike into life. It roared and sputtered like a dying animal, shaking Kyle to the core. Pushing off Kenny gave the motorcycle some gas and they sped off. Down the street they raced, the center of South Park growing closer and closer in the distance. Kyle not finding himself much of a fan of the speed and lack of seatbelts buried his face into Kenny's back shielding his vision from the hurtling street below. A sharp right and then left tossed the boys back and forth. Kenny let out a howl of laughter and increased the speed. The blond boy gave a quick glance behind him smirking at Kyle's reaction. He slowed the bike slightly and took another sharp turn down a side street. When a brick wall appeared before them, Kenny braked hard swinging the bike around parallel to the wall. When the bike had come to a complete halt, Kyle slid off his seat and hugged the wet dirty ground.

"Never again," the redhead mumbled. Kenny laughed pulling a brown laundry bag from out of a compartment hidden in the seat. He stalked off behind a corner and returned several short minutes later as Mysterion.

Now on his feet Kyle stood admiring his superhero friend. He had to admit Kenny looked fucking cool.

The blond boy's superhero costume still consisted of much the same pieces as it had when the two were nine. Kenny had made some modifications however. He no longer wore sweatpants and his underwear on the outside. It appeared that the teen had sewed together a more professional outfit designed after the one he'd made as a child. The purple pants and shirt were made out of a similar spandex used in ski outfits. A large brown belt with several compartments hung from his waist, and he wore a much thicker cape complete with hood. His black mask covered his face more snuggly and he'd painted the rims of his eyes black in order to keep up the darkened look beneath the hood. His green gloves were no longer discarded gardening gloves his mother had once owned; instead he'd replaced the pair with thick leather ones.

"Dude, this is going to be sweet," Kyle exclaimed pulling out his journal and searching his pockets for a pen.

"Thanks, Kyle," Kenny said his voice falsely low and gravely. Kyle laughed.

"So, like just go about what you'd normally do and I'll just follow."

"Can you keep up?" Kenny asked smiling.

Kyle rolled his eyes. "Whatever, dude."

But Kyle soon learned keeping up with Kenny was more difficult than he'd have thought. Kyle had no more finished his sentence and Kenny was bounding over to a fire escape and climbing its ladder to the roof above. Kyle sprinted over to the metal ladder and struggled up after his hero friend. One after the other the redhead climbed up fire escape after fire escape. Not realizing the height of the building in question, Kyle glanced below his head swimming at the sight. Kenny or better Mysterion stretched out a gloved hand and pulled Kyle up the last remaining rungs of the highest ladder. Catching his breath, Kyle lay on his side panting. Mysterion watched silently and then marched off to the building's edge. He surveyed the street below and the adjacent stores and shops. Several cars raced below them. A siren echoed in the distance.

Now in a sitting position, Kyle jotted down their position and how Mysterion looked gazing out over the small town.

_Perched like some great bird, Mysterion gazes carefully out upon the sleepy town of South Park…. His cape billows out behind him._

Kyle glanced up, Mysterion was watching him.

"I haven't done anything yet," the masked teen said. Kyle placed his pen behind his ear.

"Well, the teacher said to just write down everything. Oh and I can ask questions if I need to," Kyle informed.

"Do you have any questions?" Mysterion asked moving to sit crossed legged next to Kyle. "It's still early. Nothing to worry about yet."

Kyle scratched at his head. "Do you just sit up and wait for something to happen?"

"Pretty much."

"The police don't have like a signal for you, do they?"

"What like the Bat Signal?" Mysterion laughed deeply.

"Well, yeah."

"Nope."

Kyle eyed the building's edge. The distance between it and its neighboring building was only several feet. Kyle turned back to Mysterion.

He nodded to the ledge. "Can you jump that?"

The masked hero gazed at the gap in question. He rose to his feet and took off like a shot. He leapt from the edge and soared nearly four feet and then landed cat-like on the other side. Kyle had gotten to his feet and stood gaping.

"Dude."

"Anything else, Kyle?"

"Jump back," the redhead teased. Mysterion obliged. Kyle let out a low whistle and then bent his head to write more in his journal. Another siren screamed several streets away. Kyle looked up at Mysterion, waiting.

"Come on," the super hero said running back to the edge. He bounded over and turned back for Kyle.

The smaller boy sprinted to the edge but paused taking in the width of the gap. Glancing over to Mysterion he saw the masked teen extend his hand out over the gap. His eyes narrowed at Kyle.

Taking a deep breath Kyle replaced his journal back into its bag and secured the straps around his shoulders. He backed up a few more feet and then pelted for the edge. He took a wild leap and soared over the ledge. He felt the air rush out of him and his mind fogged in panic as he felt gravity take hold. But a gloved hand reached out and grabbed hold of his front collar and the redhead moved forward his sneakered feet skimming the new building's drainpipe. The hand yanked harder and Kyle toppled from the edge and into Mysterion. Both teens stumbled to the ground. Kyle groaned rubbing at his forehead.

Mysterion was up on his feet. "Not so hard, was it?"

Kyle gave the other boy a glare. Mysterion laughed before taking off at a run again. Kyle pulled himself up and followed. Luckily the next couple of buildings they jumped were positioned much closer together.

As the South Park police station swam into view, Mysterion halted. Kyle staggered up next to his friend and sat down hard. The redhead clutched at his chest waiting for his heart rate to slow. Mysterion stood at the edge of the building once more and gazed out at the police station.

"We'll stop in and see how Sergeant Yates is doing." With that said Mysterion slipped over a drainpipe and slid down to the ground. When he reached the bottom he waved back up to Kyle. The redheaded boy could see his friend smirking at him from below.

"Show off," Kyle mumbled finding the fire escape and taking his time down it.

Mysterion waited patiently at the bottom of the last ladder. When Kyle jumped down from the last rungs, Mysterion sighed.

"You said you'd keep up."

Kyle panted slightly. "I can keep up. You don't have to wait up for me."

Mysterion shrugged. "Don't want you being left behind."

"Dude, you act like crazed psychos run wild in South Park. I doubt anything major'll happen tonight," Kyle said straightening up.

"Kyle, this is South Park, when has something weird and unusual _not_ happened in this town," Mysterion challenged.

"You have a point," Kyle begrudged him.

The two teens walked the rest of the way to the police station. Just below an open window situated on the second floor, Mysterion stopped and turned to Kyle.

"Wait here. I'll be back in a second." Without another word Mysterion climbed hand over hand the side of the building. Kyle watched as the superhero used every projection and stone decoration on the building to scale the wall. He disappeared into the open window.

Sitting with his back against the wall Kyle flicked open his journal and began scribbling away. After twenty minutes Mysterion dropped down beside Kyle, sitting against the wall as well.

"Yates says there were a few kids out vandalizing a covered bridge by Stark's Pond couple of hours ago," Mysterion informed his friend. Kyle continued to scribble in his notes. The hero continued, "Someone robbed the liquor store too. Well sort of, he kind of just stole two or three large bottles of vodka and disappeared. The police aren't really eager to find him; they've got bigger things to deal with."

"Are you going to try and find the guy?" Kyle asked scribbling still in his notebook.

"I'll try," Mysterion said. "Supposedly the perpetrator was a large man wearing a Cows baseball cap. They didn't get a good look at his face, though, but then again the store owner was drunk himself apparently." Mysterion laughed.

"Seriously?" Kyle asked, raising an eyebrow.

Mysterion nodded, "This is South Park, Kyle, what else is there to do on a Saturday night? The liquor store guy only noticed the thief swiping his merchandise just as he sauntered out the door."

"Bummer," Kyle commented not looking up from his notes. "Are you going to try and find him?"

"I don't have much to go on," Mysterion said getting to his feet. "But let's go check out the bridge. Sometimes the thugs leave clues as to who's been tagging."

Half an hour later, Mysterion parked the rusted motorcycle behind a cluster of trees. Off to their left a covered bridge stood covering a small dirt path. It wasn't really much of a bridge. It didn't stand over a flowing river; rather it covered the path in a decorative fashion. Some government council, with not much else to do, at South Park city hall thought the tiny bridge would add some sort of charm to the rather dreary and icy landscape around the town. The bridge painted red and white held a large amount of snow on top its thin roof. The wooden side that the boys could see had been tagged over with strange signatures and gang signs. Not too offensive that they could see, but the bold neon colors clashed horribly with the humble, old bridge's exterior.

"I don't see anyone around," Kyle said peering around the bridge and looking inside. Mysterion stared for a long time at the messy tagging. He traced a finger over a strange box shape image cut into four equal squared sections. It appeared as if a shape had existed under the box drawing, but someone had quickly hidden the pattern. Kyle walked over to Mysterion's side and gazed at the shape too.

"What's that?" Kyle said pointing at the shape.

"It's no gang sign...I think. It looks familiar," Mysterion offered. Kyle nodded.

"Your right, it does look familiar somehow…" Kyle squinted, but gave up and removed his pen from behind his ear to write.

"Strange. It's like someone just painted over these taggings only a short time ago," Mysterion mused.

"What?" Kyle asked not looking up from his notebook, but scribbling away as the superhero spoke.

"The snow is all kicked up around here," Mysterion pointed out. "A lot of people had been here only hours ago tagging this bridge."

"Yeah…?"

"But then I think someone new showed up and painted over it. Like this box symbol. It used to be something else, but…" Mysterion placed a gloved finger onto the shape and pulled his hand back. Paint glistened lightly on his pointer finger. "Still wet. Whoever tagged over these gang signs must have just been here."

"Is it like a gang war? Or territory fights?" Kyle asked his voice growing eager the more he wrote down.

Mysterion narrowed his eyes at the shapes. "For some reason I don't think so. I think only one person colored over this gang tagging. They might not even be connected to the first group. Just tagged over it for the hell of it."

"But you think they did this recently?" Kyle said looking up from his book.

Mysterion nodded. The two teens ventured further down the path past more trees and foliage. Far up ahead, almost half a mile, they could see the glittering surface of Stark's Pond in the moonlight. Finally reaching the pond's edge Mysterion bent low examining the soft mud lapped clean by the murky waters. However, soft snow had begun to cover the muddy ground once more, and the pond shimmered in its now frozen state.

"Footprints here. One pair. Large." Mysterion murmured. "I have a camera back with my bike. I want to take some photos before the snow completely covers them. I'll be right back."

"Where'd you get the camera?" Kyle blurted out.

Mysterion stared at him for a few seconds.

"Kyle, just because my family isn't as well off as yours, doesn't mean I can't afford _anything_. I worked at the garage all this summer when you and Stan were off vacationing with your families. I still work there."

Kyle bit his tongue. Why did he have to put his foot in his mouth? It was just as Stan had said. Kenny needed to be left alone unless he wanted an intrusion into his life. There was an explanation for everything.

"I'm sorry, Kenny…"

But when he looked up Mysterion had already disappeared.

Kyle knelt at the pond's edge and examined the lone set of footprints. They were large, much larger than Kyle's own shoe size. Judging by the shoe's treds, the pair of footwear had to be boots, thick and heavy.

A crash echoing out to Kyle's left caused the redhead to start up and stumble backwards onto the cold ground. Cracking and then a splash out on the surface of the frozen pond followed. Kyle got to his feet and ran the rest of the way around the edge. His journal still in his hand and his backpack flapping widely off his shoulder, Kyle made it to the opposite shore. A massive silhouette stumbled towards him, and Kyle gave a shout as the figure nearly fell on top of him.

"Cartman?" Kyle said in a small voice.

The overweight teen had fallen to his knees. In his hands he held a large tree branch almost as long as Kyle was tall, but Cartman snapped it in two holding both ends in his thick fists. The larger boy gave Kyle a glance through red rimmed eyes. He then rose to his feet; snapped one of the thick branches over his knee again, and chucked it off onto the pond. It landed almost near the middle, cracking the surface but remaining safe a top the ice.

Kyle crossed his arms. "What are you doing out here, fatass?"

Cartman wheeled around and glared down at the redhead. For a few seconds, Kyle thought Cartman might strike him with the thick branch he still held. Moving a few inches back Kyle eyed the large teen warily.

"Dude, are you okay?"

"Oh, I'm fine Kyle," Cartman said tripping his way nearer to the other teen. "Just fine, Jew boy."

Cartman towered over Kyle, and the redhead found himself pressed against the trunk of a tree. A horrible stench wafted under the smaller teen's nose. He scrunched up his face and shoved Cartman away from him. The overweight boy stumbled backwards, but kept his balance. He then clamped one of his beefy hands around Kyle's upper arm, squeezing it with all his might. Kyle tried to yank himself free of the other boy's grasp, but Cartman only hung on tighter.

"Dude, have you been drinking? You reek," Kyle said wrapping his other hand around Cartman's fat fingers, trying to pry them off. Cartman blinked slowly watching Kyle struggle against his grip.

Dropping the broken tree branch, Cartman took hold of Kyle's free hand and then backed the boy up against the tree once more. He stared down at the redhead, breathing heavily. Kyle turned his face away from the foul smell.

"So, what if I've been drinking, Jew? Like you care what the fuck I do nowadays," Cartman drawled bringing his face closer to the other.

"Cartman, let me go," Kyle growled kicking out with his leg, hoping to catch Cartman below the belt. But the fat teen moved just in time. He held Kyle's hands high over the boy's head, watching Kyle squirm against his grip. Then without warning he threw the redhead down to the ground. Landing with an audible thud, Kyle slammed into the cold mud, digging his shoulder into a stone.

"Fuck, that hurt, fatass!" Kyle yelled.

Cartman picked up the discarded tree branch. He swung it inches above Kyle's head.

"Don't call me fat, you fucking Jew!" Cartman roared bringing the branch down. Kyle shot up from his spot in the mud seconds before the tree branch made contact. Dirt flew up in the air and Cartman pulled back his arms readying for another swing. Kyle pelted out from under the other boy's gaze and spun around facing his back.

Not registering the redhead's quick movement, Cartman blinked several times at the empty spot Kyle had left. Realizing the boy was behind him; Cartman spun on the spot and brought the tree branch crashing down. This time it connected with Kyle's left shoulder as he dove out of the way. Falling to the ground, Kyle's glasses slipped from the end of his nose scattering off through the dirt.

"God dammit, Cartman stop!" Kyle was back on his feet clutching at his wounded shoulder. His fingers could feel the ripped fabric and warm moisture of blood. He shuffled a few inches backwards feeling the ground gently for his glasses.

"I hate you so much, Kahl," Cartman mumbled, the tree branch limp at his side. "I hate you so fucking much."

Cartman wiped his fat arm across his eyes. He sniffed and rubbed his face furiously, staggering in place. "Dammit."

Still keeping his distance, Kyle whispered, "Dude, go home…." The redhead paused; his foot connected with something and there was an audible crack. Reaching down quickly Kyle groaned as he brought his snapped glasses to his face. Luckily only one of the temples had broken off. He placed the pair back on; they sat awkwardly leaning to one side. Kyle pushed them farther up the bridge of his nose glaring at Cartman. But then Kyle froze, he'd just noticed the paint stains on the fat boy's fingers.

"Cartman, have you been painting?"

Snapping his head up, Cartman brought the branch to his chest. "What do you mean? What did you see?"

"Nothing," Kyle found himself stuttering. Cartman took another swing, but this time Kyle was ready for him. Ducking the blow Kyle rushed forward and tackled Cartman square in the gut. Despite the boys' great size difference, Kyle managed to knock the overweight teen off balance. The heavier body's momentum propelled him backwards and onto the frozen pond.

Without a thought Kyle raced forward and shoved Cartman again, causing the other boy to slip further out. Taking Cartman's sudden confusion for granted, Kyle leaped forward and took hold of the tree branch. He knocked the other boy's grip loose and found himself swinging the branch in front of Cartman's face. The heavier boy slowly backed away across the ice.

"Get back," Kyle stuttered, stepping out onto the ice as well. He swung the tree branch again, and Cartman stumbled to the ground.

A loud splitting ripped the air. Kyle jumped where he stood as large cracks spider-webbed out from beneath Cartman's body. Another loud snap and Cartman disappeared under the ice. Kyle stood motionless, watching the other boy struggle. Several times Eric floundered to the surface, grasping at the edges of the ice. Kyle didn't move. He continued to watch the other struggle. Without thinking, Kyle took a step backwards away from Cartman's panicked form. Once, Kyle thought, Eric called out to him for help.

A flash of purple erupted out of the corner of Kyle's vision. Turning his head he saw Mysterion rush past and plummet into the icy depth's of Stark's Pond. He surfaced again his mask askew and his purple cloak billowing out beneath him in the dark water. He gave a mighty tug, and Cartman's wet form broke the surface as well.

"Help me, Kyle," Mysterion shouted his teeth chattering. His head fell below the surface as he tried to hold up the larger boy.

Falling to his knees, Kyle reached out with the very same tree branch he'd used to knock Cartman back.

"Cartman, grab a hold!" Kyle shouted his own teeth clacking against one another in the cold. The larger boy seemed to register the command and threw his weight at the branch. His thick fingers wrapped around the wood and Kyle pulled. Sliding backwards Kyle tried to tug the larger boy to safety, but found his own strength dwindling.

"Pull harder, Kyle," hollered Mysterion, his thick guttural accent slipping in the panic. Giving the heavier boy another push from under the water, the superhero managed to get Cartman half way out and onto the solid ice. Kyle continued to pull.

Cartman held onto the branch for dear life. Leaning forward, Kyle took a hold of Eric's leather jacket and yanked as hard as he could. With a final push from Mysterion, Kyle pulled Cartman out of the water. The larger boy kicked out with his feet as he was dragged out of the water. His boot covered foot connected with Mysterion's head and the other teen disappeared below the water. With Kyle's help, Eric crawled weakly forward falling on to his face, his breath coming in sharp bursts.

Kyle struggled to the edge of the broken ice, desperately scanning the waters for Mysterion.

"Kenny!" Kyle called reaching a hand below the surface. He held it under as long as he could, but jumped back when he felt his fingers numbing.

Cartman lay motionless beside the redhead. Realizing the other boy would die of hypothermia if he didn't do something quick, Kyle dragged Cartman's heavy body to the snow. He knelt beside the unconscious teen and pulled out his cell phone hitting buttons instinctively. The other line connected and the operator's calm voice wafted into Kyle's ear.

"911, what's your emergency?" said the woman.

Kyle remained silent watching the now smooth surface of the pond.

"Hello? What's your emergency?" asked the voice again.

"My friend's dead," Kyle whispered.

"Excuse me? Please repeat yourself, sir."

"My friend's dead. Kenny's dead."

* * *

><p>Yeah so that's chapter one. This is my first attempt at something multi-chaptered. Everything's already written out just spell check and grammar errors to fix.<p>

Thanks for reading. Feel free to review and comment. Constructive criticism very much welcomed!


	2. Keeping Secrets

So here's Chapter Two. This one's a tad shorter than the first.

**Summary:** For a high school project Kyle decides to follow his friend Kenny around as he plays Mysterion. But a serious accident forces Kyle to suffer at Cartman's whim. And Stan wants to keep secrets. Can the boys find a way to reconcile the catastrophe and bring things back to normal?

Bad summary I know, but I'm not very good at them.

**Rating:** T because of language cause duh it's South Park

**Pairings:** Stan x Kyle

**Disclaimer:** I do not own South Park or it's characters. This is just for fun and for writing practice.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Two – Keeping Secrets<strong>

Hell's Pass Hospital situated far from South Park and nestled back in the mountains had never appeared more cold and uninviting to Kyle. The walls white and glaring closed in on all sides. The doctors and nurses scurrying about the long, empty hallways appeared like ants bustling to and from their work caring little about the short redheaded teen who sat curled in upon himself alone in a stiff plastic chair.

Sitting outside Eric Cartman's hospital room, Kyle stared down at his homework journal. The pages wrinkled and bent as they dried from the snow. Not remembering when he had dropped the book, an officer on the scene had retrieved the item and returned it to the redhead.

Out at Stark's Pond the ambulance had arrived almost the moment Kyle had shut off his cell phone. The boy had crawled back up the snowy bank and huddled next to Cartman's unconscious form. Kyle was glad that the waiting had been brief. The minute the police and medics appeared at the pond, chaos reigned. A team immediately shuffled out onto the ice to find Kenny, Cartman had been loaded on to a stretcher and Kyle ushered quietly into the back of a police car.

His mind was never allowed to slow; the police questioned Kyle who recounted the crazy night's events through stammers and quick intakes of breath. He told the police how Cartman had attacked him, drunk, and how the heavier boy had fallen through the ice. Conveniently Kyle left out the parts where he had forced the larger boy back out onto the ice. He also neglected to relate that he might have stood and watched Eric drown had not Kenny leapt into the icy waters to save him.

Now alone in the hospital's hallway, Kyle's mind stirred the night's events before his eyes. Cartman had been drunk, he'd attacked him. Although it was not new that Cartman's hatred for the Jew often spilled over to violence, Kyle could not recall a time he'd seen the overweight teen in such a distraught moment. Cartman's actions were crazy and sporadic, not the usual calculating spite Kyle had become accustomed. Then again Cartman had been drinking and that probably had clouded his judgment and released his hatred from its inhibitions.

But worst still, Kyle thought, a tear leaking out onto the journal's crinkling page, Kenny was dead. Although the police had forced Kyle to remain in the vehicle, they could not shield completely from the redhead the black body bag being hauled away. One female officer followed slowly behind the body holding Mysterion's purple cape folded in her arms.

Kyle sniffed thinking back to the woman holding the cape. She'd clamped it to her body tightly, almost lovingly as if she understood the fabric's importance to the dead boy. Kyle knew she was just a random cop in a swarm of thousands, but the gentle gesture she'd shown Kenny had touched him. He found himself, now, writing down the scene in his green journal. He found himself recalling the entire night, marking the page with its sad, confusing tale. Not sure if he'd find the strength to share his words with anyone else, Kyle finished his last paragraph with a simple 'Goodbye, Kenny.'

Sniffing harder and rubbing a hand over his eyes, Kyle placed the journal back inside his backpack. The doctors had released him already. The redhead only suffered from a cut on his left shoulder from where Cartman had struck him. Having informed his family of the incident, the doctors insisted Kyle return home. Not wanting to face his mother's rollercoaster of emotions just yet, Kyle found himself waiting outside Cartman's room, thinking. Kyle wanted to say something to his enemy or friend or whatever he considered Eric Cartman. Not sure if he could form any semblance of an apology, Kyle still could not allow himself to leave the hospital until he'd spoken with the other boy.

"Kyle?"

The redhead glanced up. Stan was racing towards him. Instinctively Kyle bolted from his seat and threw himself into the other teen's waiting arms. The two boys stood embracing, the seconds ticking away. Kyle's vision swam with tears, his broken glasses fogging up.

Stan pulled back first, running his hand through the other boy's hair and tracing his fingers down Kyle's cheek.

"Dude, are you alright? What the fuck happened?" Stan murmured once again closing his arms around the other teen.

"Kenny's dead and Cartman's…he's in there," Kyle whispered gesturing with his arm towards the closed door.

Stan made to move towards the hospital room. Kyle clung to the taller boy's hand. Just as Stan stretched forward, the door opened and Mrs. Cartman backed out of the room, her back to the hallway.

"I'll get you some water, dear," the woman was saying as she turned around.

Stan dropped Kyle's hand as the woman faced them.

"Oh, hello, boys," Mrs. Cartman said quietly. Her eyes, bloodshot and tired, gazed from Stan to Kyle. Smiling, the woman stepped forward and wrapped her arms about Kyle.

"Thank you," she whispered. Kyle felt his stomach churn in embarrassment. Pulling away from the boy, Mrs. Cartman said, "You helped save him."

Ducking his head, Kyle tried to hide his eyes from Cartman's mother. Was she really thanking him for rescuing her son? Kyle felt his inside squirm harder. How would she have acted had she known Kyle had pushed Cartman out onto the ice?

"How is Cartman?" Stan asked from behind Kyle. Mrs. Cartman let go of the redhead and wiped at her eyes.

"Oh, my little Eric is a strong boy. He'll be better in no time. The doctor says he's lucky that he was pulled out so quickly. He should be going home tomorrow."

"That's good," Stan said.

Mrs. Cartman nodded still sniffing. Kyle shuffled his feet until he was standing behind Stan who blocked him from the mother's sight. For some reason Kyle didn't want Liane to see him. Some small part of him believed she'd see it in his eyes, the shame and guilt chipping away at his conscious.

"Um, have either of you seen the doctor? I need to talk to him," Mrs. Cartman explained.

"I think I passed him as I walked in, Mrs. Cartman," Stan offered taking the woman's arm and pointing down the hall. When the two disappeared around the corner, Kyle turned towards Cartman's hospital room.

Mrs. Cartman had left it ajar.

Peering inside the room, the redhead hesitated wondering if he should announce his presence first or just walk in. Pushing the door open a little wider, he allowed a larger sliver of light to fall across a hospital bed sitting in the corner of the room. Tiny electric lights flickered from machines and the only window had its blinds pulled shut, blocking out the streetlamps from the parking lot. A digital clock on the bedside table read 11:50 p.m.

Kyle stepped inside, closing the door behind him. The instant it shut he regretted it. The room was too dark.

"Who's there?"

Kyle froze. The bed in the corner stirred as Cartman propped himself up on his elbows. He scanned the room with blood shot eyes. When his gaze rested on Kyle, the larger boy forced himself up into a sitting position. He smirked.

"Hello, Kahl," Cartman whispered. "Come to finish me off?"

Kyle swallowed. _He knew_.

Raising his head high and not taking his eyes away from Cartman's, Kyle stepped cautiously up to the hospital bed. He studied the other boy lying back on the numerous pillows; propped against the headboard. Beside him on the bedside table was a stack of papers with different paragraphs written out on the sheets. Under those was Cartman's red Psych journal.

"H-how are you?" Kyle managed to ask.

"Still alive," Cartman said. He narrowed his eyes, the sides of his mouth twitching. "Unlike Kenny."

Kyle blanched.

Cartman leaned back. He folded his thick arms over his chest and eyed the redhead carefully.

"As crazy as that poor bastard was I've got to give him some respect. He had the balls to jump in." Cartman's mouth formed into an ugly leer. "You just stood there."

Kyle felt his throat tighten with fear. "Cartman, I'm sorry. You were out of control. I only –"

"Watched me drown."

Silence filled the room as the two enemies stared at one another. Kyle's face had grown pale and sweat dripped down his temple. Cartman continued to smirk at the redhead.

"You're a pretty sneaky little Jew, Kahl," Cartman whispered. "You thought you could get away with killing me, huh?"

Startled by the accusation, Kyle closed his eyes. "You were drunk, fatass," Kyle said through gritted teeth. "You attacked me first! I wasn't trying to kill you!"

Cartman lunged forward and grabbed the front of Kyle's sweater pulling the smaller boy forward.

"You know what it felt like, Kahl?" Cartman's leer widened, mimicking a sick jack-o-lantern grin. Kyle tried to shove himself away from the other teen. Shaking the redhead slightly, Eric continued slowly, "Seeing you standing safely on the solid ice as I kicked and swam and tried to get out. I thought surely the Jew isn't that much of a bastard to let me die like this." Cartman paused. Kyle could still smell the slight alcohol stench mingling with the other boy's breath.

Kyle twisted out of Cartman's grasp, falling to the floor. Eric glared down at him.

"What do you want me to do, then?" Kyle all but shouted. He rose to his feet. "Goddammit Cartman, I was scared too! Hell, I wasn't in my right mind either. I didn't mean to hesitate, but after the shit you put me through I highly doubt anyone would blame me!"

Cartman narrowed his eyes as Kyle continued to rant.

"In fact," Kyle said his voice sounding more confident and softer. "I bet no one would have missed you."

Cartman laughed his eyes not matching the mirth; Kyle took step back in confusion.

"The first step's admitting you've got a problem, Jew." The overweight boy lay back on his pillows closing his eyes.

"Let's not fight right now, fatass," Kyle said quietly, falling into a chair near the bed. He found his legs no longer had the strength to hold him up. "Kenny's dead," the redhead whispered. "I don't think he'd like it if we were fighting after what he just did."

"That poor piece of crap could care less. He knows we fight like this all the goddamn time," Cartman scoffed.

Kyle eyes watered. If they hadn't been fighting would Kenny still be here?

"Are you fucking crying, Jew?" Cartman accused. Kyle shot out of his chair.

"Hell no, fatass!"

The clock beside Cartman's bed struck midnight. Kyle stood facing Cartman, his anger waning. He returned to his seat and ran a hand through his curly hair.

"What was I saying?" Kyle whispered. A strange feeling had rushed over the boy. His thoughts had grown blank, the conversation he'd just been having with Cartman seemed to have swept completely out of his mind. Narrowing his eyes and rubbing his temple, he tried to remember what he and the fatass had just been arguing over. Cartman was implying that he'd let him nearly drown, but…

"I guess you had some spine, Jew," Cartman was saying, scratching his chin. "But just cause you got cold feet and decided to pull my ass out of the water, doesn't mean I'll let you forget it."

Kyle glanced up.

"Or the police…"

"Cartman, you…"

The fat teenager smirked. "Oh, don't think I wouldn't press charges, Kahl."

Kyle put his face into his palm. "Shut up, Cartman, I feel like I'm forgetting something. Were we talking about Kenny?"

"Why the fuck would we be talking about Kenny?" Cartman asked, fluffing his pillows.

"I-I don't know," Kyle struggled. "I just thought of him real quick. I wonder if he got home okay. He kind of disappeared after he went back for his camera."

"What are you talking about, Jew?" the fat boy hissed.

Kyle snapped his eyes open. "Never mind!"

Cartman sniggered. "So back to you getting your ass sued by me…hmm."

"Cartman!" Kyle was on his feet again.

The other teen leaned away from the angry redhead. "There is an alternative, Kahl."

Kyle sighed. "What?"

"Suck my balls."

"FUCK YOU!" Kyle turned and stormed toward the door.

"Wait, Kahl!" Cartman called. The redhead paused fingers curled about the door handle. Cartman continued, "Look, Jew, you can't deny what you did…"

Kyle still kept his eyes on the doorknob.

"And I'll press charges unless you make it up to me."

"I'm not sucking your balls, fatass," Kyle growled. Cartman sighed and put on a hurt expression.

"My dear Kahl, what I propose is not nearly enough to satisfy the pain and suffering you put me through, however, I feel it will suffice, but –"

"JUST SPIT IT OUT GODDAMMIT!" Kyle roared turning to face the other teen.

"Be my slave for a whole year," Cartman finished.

"Fuck no, that's even worse!" Kyle ranted storming back over to the bed.

Cartman smirked. "I won't make you do anything…unethical, Kahl. I just ask that you run errands for me, perhaps clean my room every now and then and maybe let me copy your Calculus homework? After all the trauma you've put me through, it's not very much to ask."

Kyle closed his eyes trying to control his anger. Cartman's ultimatum did not sound good at all. But would he really try to press charges against Kyle? Was there a case? Kyle swallowed hard. He was guilty. He had forced Cartman onto the ice, and even though he might not have meant any ill will towards the other teen (although a part deep down inside Kyle knew that was a big damn lie) Kyle knew if Cartman chose to accuse him of something there was no force on Earth that would stop the fatass from making the redhead's life a living hell.

"You know, Kahl, my mother informed me that your mother knows about this whole incident," Cartman said. Kyle narrowed his eyes at the other boy, confused as to what he was implying.

"Yeah, she knows I was hanging out by Stark's Pond," Kyle ventured.

Cartman leaned further back in his pillows, clearly enjoying the other's uncertainty.

"I asked my mother to leave out telling her that you were the one who pushed me in, Kahl," Cartman explained. Kyle couldn't help the wave of relief the filled him at those words, but puzzlement soon grew to overtake it. The larger teen noticed. "I don't think your mother would like to hear that her oldest son was an attempted murderer…"

Kyle made a growl-like sound in the back of his throat at the accusation.

"But, Kahl, if you agree to be my slave for a year, she'll never know. I won't sic the police after you, and after the year is up, I'll wipe the memory from my mind. How's that sound?" Cartman grinned.

Kyle mulled the predicament over in his head. If Cartman pressed charges, he'd make sure to do everything to humiliate and torment the redhead. But if Sheila Broflovski found out the truth about the night's events, than Kyle knew for sure he'd be dead.

"If I agree to be your slave for a year…" Kyle began tentatively. Cartman beamed, sitting up in his bed, "You have to promise not to force me to suck your balls or make me do anything as you said 'unethical'. If my conscience can't be kept clean, I'm not doing anything for you."

Cartman held out his fat hand. Kyle sighed, understanding. He took the other teen's hand and shook it. Cartman's face radiated with joy. Kyle found his stomach turning over, as if he'd just sold his soul to the devil himself. Hell, even Satan was nicer than Cartman.

Having gotten what he wanted, Cartman lay back upon his bed, looking exhausted. Kyle, searching his mind for something clever or spiteful to say, blurted out:

"You aren't off the hook yet, fatass." Cartman eyed the other boy through half-lidded eyes. He raised an eyebrow. Kyle continued, "I'm sure you're going to get into trouble about underage drinking…and vandalism!"

It was a feeble attempt, but Kyle was grasping at straws now. Cartman closed his eyes, his smile swimming back onto his round face.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Kahl," Cartman said. Kyle was about to retort, when the door opened. Mrs. Cartman and Stan walked in. Cartman opened his eyes, smiling at his mother. When he caught sight of Stan, a scowl flitted across his face.

"Knew if the Jew was here, the hippie wouldn't be far behind," he scoffed. Stan rolled his eyes and turned to Kyle.

"Dude, we need to get going. I told your parents I was coming here to pick you up. They'll wonder what's taking so long," Stan informed his friend. Kyle nodded and headed towards the door with the other.

"See you at school, Kahl," Cartman called as the redhead shut the door behind him.

The drive home with Stan was quiet. Neither boy could find the energy to talk. Kyle turned over his agreement with Cartman. He didn't like it, not at all. A whole year doing the fatass's chores would be next to torture, yet the alternative appeared far worse. Kyle knew Cartman would not hesitate in the slightest to get law enforcement involved and fuck over Kyle's life. Even if Kyle got out of the whole ordeal with the police, a criminal trial wouldn't exactly look pretty on a college resume. And if Kyle avoided all of that, Cartman would still tell his mother. And his mother was far scarier than any punishment the law could ever dish out.

Kyle sighed. The fatass had the upper hand.

"Dude, what's wrong?" Stan asked his eyes on the road.

"Cartman."

"What he do now?" Kyle could detect a slight bit of worry in the other teen's voice.

"I've promised to be his slave for a year, if he promises not to press charges or tell my mother what really happened out on Stark's Pond," Kyle rushed out in one breath.

Stan slammed on the breaks. Kyle braced himself against the dashboard.

"What the fuck?" Stan turned completely around in his seat to face the other boy. "Why the hell would you agree to that?"

Kyle held up his hands defensively. "Stan, it's okay. I made him swear no weird shit. I'll probably end up doing his homework all year long. Maybe do some chores."

Stan pinched the bridge of his nose. "Kyle, when has Cartman ever, _ever_ given you reason to trust him. You know damn well he'll find some kind of fucking loophole to get back at you! Hell, of all people you should know what kind of twisted asshole he can be."

"I know that!" Kyle snapped. "Do you think I like the idea of being his slave for a year? But there's no way in hell I'm getting my life fucked over for that fatass. I just want this whole incident to die and if it takes a fucking year of doing the fatass's laundry so be it!"

"Dude, but –"

"I fucking watched him drown, okay?" Kyle roared at Stan. "I knocked him out onto that god damn pond in self defense. But…but I watched him drown. I don't know if I would have stood there all night..."

"But you did save him," Stan said in a small voice.

Kyle rubbed at his forehead. A car passed them, honking its horn. Stan pulled his dad's truck over to the curb when he realized they were still sitting in the middle of the road.

"I know I saved him," Kyle began quietly, his voice full of doubt. "But for some reason it doesn't feel like I did. One minute I was watching him struggle to the surface and the next I was pulling him up onto the snow."

"Well, maybe the stress of the situation caused you to have a lapse in memory. I've heard some people claim they couldn't remember doing stuff after something traumatic happened," Stan offered.

Kyle nodded, but still didn't feel convinced. The redhead narrowed his eyes, a slight blush crossing his cheeks.

"Stan, you know how I'm not exactly the tallest or biggest guy around," Kyle whispered. He paused glaring at his sneakers. Stan didn't comment. Despite having once been the same height in elementary school, Stan had shot up like a weed when puberty struck. Kyle had grown too, but his frame and stature were a bit on the slight side. He was shorter than his other three friends. Cartman would have made fun of him for this, but Kyle assumed the fatass knew making fun of someone else because of size would prove hypocritical and only lead to even more snide remarks on his own weight.

"And…?" Stan waited.

"Dude, you know how fat Cartman is. Do you _honestly_ think I could have pulled his huge ass out of the water all by myself?" Kyle asked.

Embarrassed, Stan confessed, "No. I did find it a bit farfetched, but I just thought maybe adrenaline kicked in for you or something. I've heard of people being able to move cars when that happens."

Kyle sat back staring out the window. Another group of cars sped past, their lights fading into the dark night. Had he really saved Cartman all by himself?

Stan spoke up, "Kyle, did you know what Mrs. Cartman told me?

Confused by the change in subject, Kyle turned his puzzled expression on the other boy.

Stan sighed. "I asked about Cartman drinking, you know being underage and if he'd get into trouble, right? Cause I knew that if he'd have to deal with that shit, he might not find the time to mess with you."

"Yeah, I thought the same thing, but when I mentioned it to him he just said he didn't know what I was talking about. He still reeked of the alcohol too. I don't know what the fuck he was thinking tonight. I know he does a lot of stupid shit, but I've always taken him for someone who'd want to keep his senses." When Stan raised an eyebrow, Kyle explained, "You know stay sober so he can calculate shit. He'd be the one to get someone else drunk to take advantage of them."

Stan nodded. "Sounds like something he'd do."

"So what did Mrs. Cartman say?" Kyle asked.

"She knows the liquor store owner. He's 'one of her customers,'" Stan said bringing his hands up to emphasize the quotations. Kyle groaned.

"So let me guess, Mommy made sure little Eric wouldn't get in trouble with the liquor store owner?"

"Sure looked like, especially 'cause he was in the lobby with flowers for her."

"Shit, dude."

"That and Officer Barbrady was right behind him with a box of chocolates."

In normal circumstances both boys would have laughed at the evidence the scene provided, proving once again Cartman's mom was a big, dirty slut. But instead the two let silence grow around them as several more cars passed the truck.

Stan sighed again, pinching his nose. Kyle's anger flared to the surface. God damn Cartman; leave it to him to weasel his way out of something like this, and in the process succeed and making Kyle's life hell.

"Let's go home." Stan started the engine and the truck sputtered forward.

* * *

><p>Sunday morning Kyle woke late. His mother rapped on his door at around noon, calling out for her eldest son to get up and do something productive. Kyle was grateful that she hadn't been too upset. True to his word, Cartman had not let his mother relay all the events of last night to Mrs. Broflovski. The stern looking woman had only scolded (for a good two hours the night before) her son for being out near the pond when the ice wasn't properly frozen over. But couldn't stay mad too long having been told Kyle had saved Cartman's life. However she still felt the need to harass her son as he shuffled about trying to wake up and get dressed. She nagged at him while he tried to comb his hair and brush his teeth in front of the bathroom mirror.<p>

"You need to set a better example for your brother, Kyle," Sheila warned. Ike hearing himself being mentioned from down the hall slammed his door shut, fearing his mother might drag him into her rant.

"I know, Ma," Kyle said half annoyed. He squeezed his way under her arm and back into his room. His mother followed. "I didn't go out onto the ice," Kyle added. "That was Cartman."

"Well, I heard from his mother that you two were fighting. You didn't dare him to go out there did you?" she asked stepping in front of her son, and forcing him to look her in the eye.

Finding himself a bit intimidated by her stance, Kyle turned his face away. He suddenly found his dirty laundry crumpled in the corner of his room very fascinating.

"Aw, Ma, I wouldn't do that. I may hate Cartman, but I wouldn't do something stupid like that."

_No_, Kyle thought nastily his stomach flipping, _I'll just stick to watching him drown_.

"Well," Mrs. Broflovski's face lightened, "I guess you boys just need to be more careful next time. But I really don't want you going near the pond until it's completely frozen. You hear me?

Kyle sighed, glad his mother's temper had extinguished. "Yes, Ma." With a small smile the woman brought her son into a tight hug, ruffling his hair. Pulling him back at arm's length she said, "I know I get on you boys a lot, but I want you to know I have your best interests at heart."

Kyle nodded, not finding the courage to point out that sometimes his mother's interpretation of what was best for her sons leaded to wars against Canadians. But she continued to beam at Kyle, and the redhead found himself sheepishly grinning too.

* * *

><p>Kyle stood with Stan outside the Bijou Theater at five that evening. Both boys stood with their backs to the street, turned in towards the building. The day proved colder than the one before, and a nasty wind swept through the streets rattling doors and tossing about scarves and hats. Huddling together for warmth, Stan and Kyle waited in line shuffling forward every few feet.<p>

"I'm just glad she didn't flip her shit," Kyle was saying. Stan nodded.

"Has Cartman made you do anything yet?" the black-haired boy queried. Kyle shook his head. His teeth chattering, Stan continued, "I think you should really find a way to back out of this deal, dude."

"Don't think I won't," Kyle said.

A large shadow materialized over the two teens. Looking up Kyle saw Eric Cartman grinning down at them. He looked much better now than he had the night before. Although his eyes still looked blood-shot, Cartman had regained his old swagger. Without a word the overweight teen squeezed himself in between Stan and Kyle causing the black-haired boy to trip backwards into the wall.

"Hey, what's your problem, fatass," Stan half shouted, pushing himself off the wall. He tried to move around the larger boy, but Cartman blocked his way with his bulk.

Kyle sighed and stepped out of line to move next to Stan. Cartman caught hold of the redhead's jacket and forced him back.

"'Ey, Jew, I want to see the movie with you and the hippie," Cartman drawled. Kyle yanked himself free of the other's grip.

"Okay. You do that." Kyle made another attempt to get near Stan, but once again Cartman dragged him backwards. This time the larger boy threw an arm around Kyle's shoulders, squeezing him in an almost headlock.

"I don't think you understand, Kahl. I want to see this movie with you. Therefore you got to buy me a ticket," Cartman explained. Kyle wiggled himself free.

"Fuck off," growled the redhead.

"Now, now, Kahl, that's not very nice. You promised you'd be my slave. So I want you to buy me a movie ticket," Cartman laughed. Kyle sighed, pulling out his wallet. He searched through the bills and was relieved that he had just enough to pay for two.

"Fine, fatass!" Kyle snapped.

When they reached the ticket booth, Kyle marched forward and bought two tickets. He turned on the spot and thrust the extra one at Cartman and then stalked off into the building, waiting for Stan. The black-haired teen purchased his ticket quickly not wishing to leave his best friend alone with his enemy for too long.

Inside, Cartman once again grabbed the back of Kyle's jacket, this time nearly pulling the boy off his feet, and turned him in the direction of the concession stand. He half-marched, half-pulled Kyle to the glass counter and shoved the smaller boy forward.

"I want an extra large popcorn, a jumbo soda, and three packs of that candy." He jabbed his fat finger at each item in question. Kyle gaped at the other boy.

"Dude, I don't have any more money," Kyle explained. "I bought your damn ticket and that's all you get."

Cartman shook his head. "As my slave, Kahl, I order you to buy me snacks. Or would you like me to call your mother and tell her you don't like keeping up your end of bargains?"

Stan appeared at Kyle's elbow. "I'll buy the snacks, dude."

Kyle smiled weakly at his friend. Cartman scowled and stomped off towards the theater entrance.

Kyle sighed watching Stan purchase the popcorn and candy. "Thanks, dude," Kyle whispered feebly. Stan shrugged his shoulders not looking at the other.

"It doesn't matter," Stan said his eyes still facing forward.

"I guess I didn't register the fact that the fatass would make me buy him shit," Kyle explained his voice irritated. Stan nodded still not looking at the other. When he'd made all his purchases he moved towards the theater, Kyle followed behind.

Cartman had already entered the dark, cramped theater. He waited just outside the exit for the other two boys. He once more pulled at Kyle's jacket and steered him towards the seats in the very back.

"Let go, fatass, I can walk by myself," Kyle growled. Cartman thrust the other boy forward, and the redhead tripped up the stairs. Stan continued to follow behind.

Up in the seats, the three boys saw Kenny sitting with his legs propped up against the back of another seat. His orange hood was pulled down over his face and his head bobbed up and down. When Kyle approached his friend, he saw that Kenny was fast asleep, his light snores muffled by the loud previews scrolling across the movie screen.

For a brief moment, Kyle felt a wave of relief wash over him. Why he couldn't explain. Seeing Kenny safe and sound in the theater had made Kyle suddenly very aware of last night's events. Kenny had disappeared on him, minutes before Cartman's drunken appearance. Had Kenny been at his bike the whole time? Had he left the pond? Why would he leave Kyle behind? Had something distracted him? Wouldn't he have come forward to help the redhead when Cartman began to drown? He was Mysterion after all. Where did he go?

Sitting down next to the sleeping boy, Kyle cleared his throat. Kenny jerked awake and stared bleary eyed at the newcomers.

"Sup, dudes," he said yawning. When he spotted Cartman standing behind Kyle his eyes widened. He eyed the large boy who'd turned around to argue with Stan, snatching a bag of candies from the black-haired boy's hand.

"Dude, where did you go last night?" Kyle asked sitting beside the blond. Kenny glanced sideways at Kyle and sighed.

"I don't know…."

"Did you leave the pond? Didn't you see anything that happened last night?" Kyle pressed.

Kenny kept his gaze to the front. He shrugged his shoulders his lips forming a tight line.

Kyle knitted his brows together, feeling his anger rising, but he couldn't explain why. Kenny continued to stare at the screen, watching the next preview. Kyle gazed for several minutes at the blond examining the light flash across the boy's eyes from the movie projection.

"Kenny…?"

"MOVE, FATASS!" Stan nearly shouted. Kyle twisted in his seat to see Cartman settling down beside him. Stan stood over them, his eyes narrowed.

"I don't see your name on it, Stan," Cartman grinned. He leaned back in the seat and threw his legs up onto the chair in front of him, blocking Stan from moving any further.

"I want to sit by Kyle," Stan said. "I always sit by Kyle."

"Well, he ain't your slave, is he, Stan? So, I get to sit next to him."

Kyle opened his mouth to argue, but Kenny tapped him on the shoulder.

"Slave?" the blond asked.

"It's a long story, dude," Kyle sighed. Kenny raised an eyebrow. The redhead waved his hand dismissively.

Stan finally sat down, but every few minutes he'd lean forward trying to get a glimpse of Kyle. Cartman now distracted by the opening credits, stuffed handfuls of popcorn into his mouth. Kenny blinked sleepily staring at each one of his friend's in turn. Kyle sat with his chin propped in his hand, not really seeing the movie. He really hated Cartman at that moment, but a part of him was slightly relieved at how trivial the fatass's tasks were proving to be so far. True, Stan had taken the brunt of Cartman's first request with the snacks, but Kyle hoped buying Eric food and movie tickets proved to be an example of what the rest of the year would be like.

_I can get through this_, Kyle told himself.

As the movie reached its more loud and climatic scenes, Kenny leaned over his armrest and whispered into Kyle's ear.

"Why are you Cartman's slave?"

Kyle shook his head. "It's no big deal. Last night shit went down and now I owe Cartman."

Kenny's eyes widened for a second. "It's about him falling into the lake, right?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Is it cause you pushed him in?"

Kyle turned his head to retaliate, but paused when Kenny's words sunk in.

"Y-yeah." He turned his body in his seat to face the blond. "Where the hell did you go last night?"

Kenny examined Kyle's face before answering.

"You wouldn't believe me."

His anger flicking awake again, Kyle moved away from Kenny.

"'Ey, Jew." Cartman reached over and thumped Kyle in the back of the head and stuck his extra large empty soda cup in front of the smaller boy's face. "Get your scrawny ass up and get me a refill."

"Get it yourself, fatass," Kyle snapped back. Cartman grinned, pulling out his cell phone.

"I've got your mother on speed dial."

"You do not, Cartman," Stan said from the other side of the overweight teen.

Eric plucked his sleek phone out of his pocket and pressed the screen. It rang three times and then clicked as someone answered on the other line.

"Hello?" Kyle's eyes widened. He recognized his little brother's voice.

From in front of the four, several patrons turned around and shushed them.

Growling to himself Kyle snatched the plastic cup from Cartman and shuffled past the fat boy. When he passed in front of Stan he caught the black-haired boy's eye. Shaking his head Kyle raised his arms pathetically as if saying sorry. Stan simply glared at the movie screen in response.

Out at the snack stand, Kyle thrust the cup at the attendant and waited while the soda was refilled. A tap on his shoulder caused the redhead to spin around. Kenny stood behind him.

"Why did you agree to be his slave?" the orange-hooded teen asked. Kyle huffed.

"You know my mom, Kenny," Kyle mumbled turning back to the concession attendant. "She'll kill me if she heard what I did."

"What did you do?" Kenny asked. Something in his voice caused Kyle to look up. Kenny frowned, his gaze on his worn out brown boots.

Kyle shook his head and grabbed the refilled cup from the attendant. He stalked away, towards the theater entrance. Kenny sprinted to his side.

"Do you remember anything about last night?" Kenny asked this time, taking hold of Kyle's shoulder.

Shaking off the other boy, Kyle said yes. When pushed further, Kyle related last night's horrible adventure. He recalled Cartman's drunken attack and his own retaliation to the fatass' violent ramblings.

"And well I sort of just pulled him out," Kyle whispered watching a couple pass by and enter the neighboring theater. Kenny cocked his head to the side.

"You pulled him out all by yourself? You didn't have any help?" Kenny pressed his voice rising slightly. He looked flushed in the face with his fist slightly raised in anticipation.

Kyle shook his head, feeling a slip of anger. "Well you bailed on me, dude."

Kenny dropped his hands. "What?"

"I waited for you and you never came back. Not cool, man."

Kenny closed his eyes for a moment and sighed. Rubbing his hands over his face he nodded.

"You're right. It wasn't cool." He turned on his heel and stomped back into the theater leaving Kyle standing watching the double doors swing shut.

For the rest of the movie Kenny didn't talk. He zipped up his small orange coat and pulled his hood close around his face. Only his eyes shown, half-lidded out from under the fraying brown edges of the hood. Kyle sat his legs and arms crossed his body slouched low in the seat. Cartman continued to stuff his face while Stan strained his neck peeking over the overweight teen's large bulk.

When the movie ended, Kenny slipped out of sight, disappearing into the crowd. Kyle tried to leave with Stan, but once more Cartman grabbed the shorter boy by the back of the coat and dragged him off in the opposite direction.

"Let me go, fatass!" Kyle growled, squirming in the larger teen's grip. Stan marched up behind the two.

"I want some dinner, Jew," Cartman laughed, letting go of Kyle and watching him stumble to the ground. "You got to buy me something to eat."

Shaking his fists and gritting his teeth, Kyle let out a sound somewhere between a low growl and high-pitched hiss. He kicked out at the pile of snow, scattering tiny bits of ice.

"Easy now, Kahl, don't bust a blood vessel."

"I hate you so much, Cartman."

"Yeah, whatever, you still got to do what I say."

Stan put an arm around Kyle's shoulders pulling the redhead back from Cartman.

"Dude, you got your movie and snacks. Kyle doesn't have any more money tonight."

For a few minutes, Cartman stared at Stan's arm draped around Kyle. Slowly his eyes traveled from one friend to the other. Eric smiled.

"Alright, Marsh, I'll leave the Jew alone for tonight. It's a school night after all," Cartman chuckled turning his back to the other two.

Blinking stupidly, Stan grunted out a 'sure' surprised he'd gotten Cartman to behave on the first try. Kyle narrowed his brows not trusting the quick change of heart.

"You mean it, fatass?" Kyle asked. "You aren't going to call me at like three in the morning to make you breakfast or some bullshit like that?"

Cartman laughed. "Of course not, Kahl. I wouldn't do that to you."

"I don't believe you."

"I'm hurt."

"No you're not, fatass," Stan quipped. "There's always a catch with you."

Cartman smiled at Stan. "I wouldn't want to disturb dear Kahl's good night's sleep," Eric said, "…or yours."

"What you're going to try calling me to buy you breakfast too?" Stan scoffed.

Cartman started walking away from them. "No, I just know how you two like to _sleep_ _over _at each other's houses."

Stan's arm left Kyle's shoulder so fast it almost hurt. Kyle felt the sudden whip of cold rush across the back of his neck and snake about his shoulder blades. Stan stuffed his hands into his pockets and backed up a few feet down the sidewalk, distancing himself from the redhead. Cartman didn't turn around, but continued marching off through the slushy snow.

"He knows," Stan murmured. Kyle glared at him.

"He knows nothing. He's a dumbass." But Kyle could hear his own words tremble out of his mouth. "W-we have s-sleepovers all the time. Ever since we were kids. Stan."

Stan continued to stare at Cartman's retreating figure. He didn't speak. Kyle tugged on his best friend's arm, but Stan only stiffened. Kyle bristled when the other boy shook him off when he too tried to place his own friendly arm about the other teen's shoulders.

"Stop it, Kyle," Stan rushed, casting his eyes at the nearest building scanning for people watching. No one was out.

"Fuck you, Stan," Kyle snapped. He shoved Stan hard as he walked past, kicking up snow and mush. "See you at school."

"Dude, it's fucking freezing. Let me drive you home," Stan offered apparently regaining his senses.

"No."

Stan continued to follow behind Kyle.

"Don't be a douche, dude. Let me drive you."

"Fuck off."

"What's your problem, asshole?" Stan growled, grabbing hold of Kyle and spinning him around. The redhead glared at him.

"Dude, I don't need this shit right now," Kyle hissed. "Cartman is just trying to fuck with our heads. He's got nothing on us. Nothing!"

"You don't know that…"

"Goddammit, Stan!" Kyle roared pushing the other as hard as he could manage. Stan staggered slightly but remained standing. Stan towered over Kyle, and the black-haired teen would have found the little shoving attempt cute, if Kyle's glare hadn't appeared so scarred.

"What?" Stan said raising his arms. "What!"

"I don't need Cartman blackmailing me with any more _fuel_. We should…." Kyle bit his lip.

Stan took a step closer. Kyle turned his face away, not making eye contact with the other boy.

"We should what, Kyle?" Stan urged.

Kyle sighed. "Dude, it's been a year. People are bound to start finding out sooner or later."

"No."

"Dude, we can't not tell people. I mean one day we'll need guests for our wedding."

Stan blinked several times.

"Wedding, dude?"

Kyle blushed and started coughing into his hand. He bent over slightly, keeping his face obscured. When he straightened up he leaned back and then rushed forward, digging his fist into the taller boy's stomach. Stan doubled over gasping.

"It was a figure of speech, asshat," Kyle fumed, his face still on fire. "Now take me home, douchebag!"

Stan continued to heave for breath as he dug his keys out of his back pocket and the two walked towards the movie theater parking lot.

Managing to stand back up straight, Stan eyed Kyle warily; afraid the other boy would hit him again. Kyle hopped into the passenger's side of the truck and stared ahead unblinking. Stan climbed into the driver's seat and started the engine, rubbing at his stomach.

"You know I love you, right dude?"

Kyle blinked several times, not looking at Stan.

"I love you too, jerk. Now, just take me home."

* * *

><p>Had trouble figuring out how to end this chapter. Sorry if it's a bit sappy.<p>

_**Thanks for reading! Reviews, comments, and constructive criticism welcomed.**_


	3. Love Struck

Chapter Three here. In the beginning we take a little detour to the past. Hope it doesn't throw anyone off.

**Summary:** For a high school project Kyle decides to follow his friend Kenny around as he plays Mysterion. But a serious accident forces Kyle to suffer at Cartman's whim. And Stan wants to keep secrets. Can the boys find a way to reconcile the catastrophe and bring things back to normal?

Bad summary I know, but I'm not very good at them.

**Rating:** T because of language cause duh it's South Park

**Pairings:** Stan x Kyle

**Disclaimer:** I do not own South Park or it's characters. This is just for fun and for writing practice.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Three – Love Struck<strong>

When Stan and Kyle had reached their Sophomore year, Stan made the South Park High's football team, and Kyle joined the Mathletes. Although no one garnered any surprise from the turnout, after all Stan ate, slept, and breathed for the Denver Broncos, and Kyle was one of the smartest kids in their grade; the two boys had not registered how much time their individual activities would absorb their personal life. Stan's football practices were every evening except Sundays and Mondays. Kyle's Mathletes met every other day, except on weekends, but the club's strenuous curriculum had Kyle studying formulas and equations constantly on his days off. When the two did see one another it was usually in a cloud of homework which piled itself high in between their various meetings and practices. Although they'd spend hours in one another's presence on weeknights, it often was in silence with books stacked around them.

Growing tired of their lack of free time, Stan devised a plan for them to meet for at least an hour every day and talk, away from footballs, calculators, books, teachers and parents. In the back of the gym a room, filled with random sports equipment, volleyball nets, and gymnastic mats, was left empty when the football practices ended. Stan assured Kyle it was secluded and quiet once the team left for the night. When seven o'clock rolled around, no matter where Stan and Kyle happened to be at the time, the two would find their way to that empty room and talk.

They moved the gym mats making a fort that leaned crazily on its side. Piling up nets the two reclined in their makeshift camp and related their day's grievances.

And that's how it all started.

One evening it rained. Strange for South Park which appeared to be perpetually covered in feet of snow, the weather that fall had been oddly warm. The evening Stan and Kyle met, rain lashed the high window up above their heads. Stan lay on his back gazing up at the dark rectangle of glass, watching the lightning illuminate the thin, crooked tree branches outside.

"And then the fatass threw his ham sandwich at me!" Kyle had been saying. He held one loose strap of his backpack in his hand and twisted it as he spoke. He growled, "Then he expected me to buy him a new one. God!"

"I'm sorry I wasn't there to kick his ass for you," Stan said offhandedly still staring at the window.

"Dude, are you even listening to me?" Kyle huffed, sliding off his stack of gym mats. He lay down next to Stan and turned his gaze at the small window. Another flash erupted outside.

When Stan didn't answer, Kyle elbowed him in the side.

"Oww, dude, don't do that."

Kyle elbowed him again. When Stan protested a second time, Kyle began jabbing him in the ribs with his fingers. Growing irritated, Stan rolled up onto his side and grabbed a hold of Kyle's wrists and pinned his arms over his head.

Kyle laughed, "Dude, let go."

Stan grinned and shook his head. Kyle frowned. He tried to squirm out of his friend's grasp, but Stan only tightened his hold.

"Fuck, your strong," Kyle said through gritted teeth. "You shouldn't be this strong."

"Hey, I'm not the one who gave up exercise for books and calculators," Stan jeered.

Kyle glared at his friend. "Dude, I exercise."

"Not sure chasing Cartman's fatass around school qualifies for a proper workout, Kyle," Stan noted.

"Whatever, I can run circles around you if I wanted too," Kyle challenged.

This was true for the most part. What Kyle lacked in strength and muscle, he made up in speed. He guessed it came from his years on the Elementary school basketball team. Before his kneecaps blew out, he'd been able to weave in and out of any one of his teammates. He figured that the only reason he kept up his sprinting was, as Stan had commented, from chasing down fatass to beat the ever loving shit out of him. Although, outrunning Cartman wasn't exactly a miraculous feat.

"Whatever," Stan said rolling his eyes. He let go of Kyle's hands and got to his feet. "Prove it."

Bending slightly, Stan moved his body readying for a sprint. Kyle sprung up and stood next to Stan, matching his stance.

"On the count of three. One, two…THREE!"

The two shot off past the hockey equipment and the rack of basketballs. Speeding into the now vacant and darkened gymnasium, the boys found themselves falling in step with the track lines etched around the wooden floorboards.

Stan, whose legs were longer than Kyle's, gained an early lead in the race. Their sneakers pounded the waxed floor, filling the gym with echoes. A thunder clap outside and the wind howled as they rounded the first corner. Putting on an extra burst of energy, Kyle pulled ahead of Stan. With his arms pumping and chest burning, Kyle took the second turn with ease.

But when the redhead brought his foot down he took his step at an odd angle. Not having time to register his footing, he bent his ankle inward and lost his balance. He hit the floor with a nasty smack that reverberated off the empty stone walls. Stan slid to a stop next to him.

"Dude, are you okay?" Stan was on his knees, helping Kyle roll over. The smaller boy grabbed at his left ankle, his teeth gritted with his eyes squeezed shut.

Hissing, Kyle rocked back and forth. "Shit. Shit. Shit."

Stan took a hold of Kyle's foot and gently eased it out of his friend's grip.

"Let me see."

Kyle kept his eyes closed as he felt Stan prod and poke his ankle. Several painful minutes ticked by as the black-haired boy examined the injury.

Sighing with a smile, Stan said, "It's not broke. I think you just sprained it. Anywhere else hurt?"

Kyle had fallen pretty hard on his chest and had bumped his chin against the wooden floor. He rubbed at it, blinking the tears out of his eyes. His ankle still hurt a hell of a lot more though.

"Dude, don't cry, it's cool," Stan said placing an arm around Kyle.

Kyle shoved the other away. "I'm not fucking crying."

Stan dropped his arms to his side. "Can you walk on it?"

Kyle pushed himself into a sitting position and then clambered to his feet. When he pressed weight down onto his injured foot, he staggered a bit to his left. Hopping in place, he shook his head down at Stan.

"It'll be okay."

"I don't know, dude, you look a little silly hopping about," Stan noted getting to his own feet. He placed a helpful hand on Kyle's back to steady the other boy.

"I'm fine," Kyle sniffed, taking a tentative step with his injured foot. He hissed as the jab of pain ricocheted up his leg. He staggered in place and Stan caught him before he dropped to the floor.

Stan shook his head, pulling Kyle closer to him. "Dude, let me help."

Before Kyle could respond, Stan had stooped down, catching Kyle at the back of his knees, and lifted up the smaller boy into his arms bridal style. The redhead tried to protest, but Stan shifted about for several seconds, securing his grip around the other teen's body. Kyle huffed slightly, but folded his arms around Stan's neck anyway.

"Put me down, Stan," Kyle said in a monotone. This wasn't the first time Stan had carried Kyle around. When the two boys had realized how much Stan had outgrown Kyle over the last couple of years, Stan found it rather amusing to emphasize the point by sneaking up on his Super Best Friend at random moments and throw the other boy over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

Stan smiled and began walking back to the empty equipment room. His sneakers squeaked on the hardwood floor, and every few steps Stan would have to readjust his hold on Kyle. The other protested the whole way, his arms still wrapped firmly around his friend's neck.

"Quit showing off, dude," Kyle said through gritted teeth. He squirmed a bit and Stan paused in his movement. He raised an eyebrow at Kyle who continued to wiggle about in Stan's arms.

"I could drop your ass on the hardwood floor. Bruise your tailbone for you?" Stan laughed, emphasizing the threat by loosening his grip. Kyle slipped a few inches, but before Stan completely let go he tugged hard and drew Kyle up closer into his chest. Kyle growled in protest, knocking his fist against the side of Stan's head.

"Bastard." But Kyle didn't say anymore. He really didn't want his tailbone to ache too. Plus, he was getting used to Stan holding him. A small part deep down in Kyle felt warm and happy to be carried in such a manner.

Back in the equipment room, Stan lowered himself to the floor still holding onto Kyle. The dark haired teen sat cross legged with Kyle resting in his lap. Despite the fact that both were now safely sitting on their gym mats in their little hide out, neither boy made a move to separate. Kyle leaned his forehead against Stan's cheek. Stan rubbed Kyle's back lightly.

"This is kind of faggy, dude," Kyle whispered, but just as the words left his mouth he regretted it. His voice seemed to disrupt the strange warmth that had been growing within his stomach and chest. Thunder rumbled outside. Stan didn't speak, perhaps sensing that talking would ruin further the strange, intimate moment the two shared. Nodding, Stan smiled and only closed his arms a bit more snuggly around the redhead's waist.

A flash of lightning illuminated the boys huddled together. Once again Stan stared up at the dark square of window glass. Kyle nuzzled his head into the crook of Stan's neck. The taller boy smiled down at his friend.

"Is it weird," Stan finally spoke, his voice low, "that I don't want to let you go?"

Kyle shook his head.

"I kinda feel the same way." Kyle blushed not knowing why. "I mean you don't have to let me go. No one's around anyway."

Stan nodded. "Yeah, true. No one can see us."

A few more seconds slipped by. Slowly Stan shifted his position, pushing Kyle out of his lap. The other protested with a small disgruntled sound, but soon swallowed it as his friend took his injured foot into his hands.

"Does it still hurt a lot?" the black-haired boy asked.

Kyle nodded. "It's a bit better."

Stan set Kyle's foot down and shuffled on his knees over to his duffle bag. A large sewn-on Cow graced the front of the bag. It had been a gift to the teen from his coach.

Searching about inside, Stan pulled out an ace bandage roll. Digging a little further into his bag, he produced an odd little blue, plastic pack with the words "Pain Freezer" on it. He twisted it between his hands and jiggled it about to get the inside fluids even. He scooted back over to Kyle, who still sat with his leg outstretched. Taking the redhead's foot gently in his hands, Stan pulled off the other boy's sneaker, rolled up the cuff of his jeans, and began to wrap the little ice pack around his friend's ankle.

"Don't know if it'll get swollen or not, but better safe than sorry right?" Stan said his eyes on his work. Kyle watched him closely. He followed Stan's fingers as he stretched the bandage around and around his ankle. Deftly, the black-haired teen secured the wrappings with a safety pin.

"Thanks, dude," was all Kyle found he could say. His eyes still fixed on Stan's hands, the redhead scooted an inch closer to his friend.

"No problem," Stan replied automatically. He too moved a few inches closer on their gym mat.

Without either of them thinking about their actions, Kyle was back in Stan's lap and the black-haired boy was running his fingers through his friend's hair.

Stan chuckled. Kyle frowned.

"What's so funny?" Kyle asked, afraid it might be their sitting arrangements.

"Your hair."

Kyle bristled. He leaned away from Stan and glared. Waving his hands back and forth Stan smiled benignly.

"I like it," Stan said. "It's like springs." To emphasize his point he reached out and tugged on one of Kyle's many unruly curls. The red piece of hair straightened out at Stan's pull, but sprung back into shape the minute Stan let go. Kyle continued to frown, not finding any humor in his bushy locks.

"Whatever," Kyle said, shrugging his shoulders. Somehow during the gesture he managed to situate himself closer to Stan's chest. He leaned his head onto the other teen's shoulder. "It's not that funny."

"At least it doesn't look like a mop, like mine," Stan offered. Kyle moved his head to glance at Stan's hair. He smiled. Stan's black hair fell in thick strands about the boy's face. Slightly damp from his post-practice shower, it looked plastered to Stan's head. The strange little cowlick he sported on the top of his head had managed to spring back up however. Kyle laughed.

"Your hair's funny too I guess," Kyle said resting his head back under Stan's chin.

They sat like that for some time. When Kyle finally checked his watch, he nearly bolted out of Stan's arms in shock. Now nine o'clock both boys realized they'd lost track of time; homework, chores, and concerned parents awaited them back home. Kyle almost swore scurrying away on his hands and knees from Stan and scrambling around for his own bag and books. Stan repacked his duffle bag and threw the strap over his neck, securing it in place across his chest. Kyle replaced his own bag and tried to stand. Stan helped him to his feet and the two half walked, half limped out of the gym and towards the school exit.

In the days that followed, Stan and Kyle's meetings grew longer and longer in length. During the day the two tried, against the constant rush of students and various class periods, to find time to be near one another more often. Never had they made the effort so strongly before. Luckily the two had a ready excuse in Kyle's sprained ankle. Having received a pair of crutches from the school nurse, Kyle limped along the hallways with Stan in tow carrying his Super Best Friend's books for him. For several weeks as Kyle recovered the two remained inseparable and unusually close. No one questioned them when Stan, on several occasions, carried Kyle piggyback-style down the stairs of the school. Even when Jimmy told Kyle to suck it up and go down the stairs like a man, Stan continued to escort the redhead up and down the stairs in such a manner. Cartman had a field day when he noticed the two one Monday after Kyle's Mathletes club let out. Stan, who had just been given permission to drive his father's truck, had arrived to take Kyle home for the evening. Gripping Kyle in his arms once again, he had helped lift the smaller boy up into the cab of the vehicle. Cartman, seeing the feat, spent a good five minutes calling the two friends fags. Stan in retaliation nearly backed up over the fatass, and Kyle spat out the window at the offensive, overweight teen.

After several weeks had gone by in this manner, Kyle managed to walk about the school without assistance. Jimmy still found time to harass the redhead for his helpless display, but Kyle only bemoaned the fact that Stan no longer had permission to follow him everywhere in school and carry his books. One evening as the two sat upon their dirty and frayed gym mats in the equipment room, Kyle listed this annoyance amongst his usual rant to Stan as the taller boy held him on his lap (now a reoccurring habit).

"Well, I couldn't continue arriving late to my classes forever, dude," Stan sympathized. He absentmindedly ran his hand through Kyle's hair. "Next year we need to take more classes together."

Kyle agreed. "Yeah, then you can carry my books without being late to class." Stan rolled his eyes, and Kyle smirked.

A long pause followed. Stan scratched at his ear. "Hey, dude, what are we doing?"

Kyle raised an eyebrow. "Doing what?"

"This." Stan gestured to Kyle in his lap. Feeling his face suddenly flood with color, Kyle scooted away from his friend.

"Nothing. I thought you didn't mind."

Stan ducked his head. "I don't."

"Then what's a matter?" Kyle urged the heat in his face turning from embarrassment to irritation.

Stan moved closer. "I don't know, like what is this? Do friends do this? I mean, I don't mind it, really, I mean…. I really don't know what I mean, you know? Is that weird?"

"No," Kyle whispered, shaking his head. "I guess you're right, this is kind of different. Maybe Super Best Friends can do this?"

"Can I kiss you?"

The silence echoed throughout the room. Stan stared at Kyle waiting for the other to answer. Kyle crossed his legs and ran a hand through his springy hair.

"What?"

Stan took a deep breath. "Can I?"

Kyle nodded his throat very dry. As he watched Stan crawl closer to him and sit cross legged too, the redhead became suddenly and strongly aware how much his lips were chapped. He ran his tongue over them, waiting. He hoped he hadn't made them gross just then. Stan didn't seem to notice; the black-haired teen rose his arms slowly up and down as if gauging whether he should wrap them around Kyle. The redhead closed his eyes as Stan's face inched closer.

It didn't last very long. The two pressed their lips together, breathing heavily through their noses. As they pulled back they stared at one another, panting. Kyle turned his head away first.

"So…."

"I liked that," Stan whispered. "Can I do it again?"

Kyle didn't have a chance to answer. Stan's hesitant arms now found their place around the other boy's waist, pulling him closer. Kyle's eyes were closed again. Several more seconds and Stan snorted through his nose for air. Kyle couldn't help it; he leaned away from the kiss and laughed. Stan frowned.

"Sorry." Suddenly the black-haired boy was looking kind of queasy, but a small grin still plastered his face.

"Dude, it's cool. But this is kinda gay, you think?"

"I don't care. Do you?"

"Nope."

* * *

><p>Monday arrived just as cold and grey as the day before. Kyle rolled out of bed and collected a couple of school books, chucking them into his bag. Checking his clock he whisked into the bathroom and brushed his teeth. He scowled for several minutes at his hair and then decided to fuck it and pull out his old trusty ushanka.<p>

Downstairs he grabbed a handful of Cheerios, stuffing them into his mouth as he searched for the orange juice. He gulped down a glass and watched as Ike entered the kitchen.

The little brother took one look at the familiar green hat and said, "Bad hair day, bro?"

Kyle nodded and placed his glass in the sink. A horn sounded outside. Kyle gave Ike the thumbs up.

"That'll be Stan, see you, Ike." Kyle playfully ruffled his little brother's dark hair. Scowling Ike shook him off.

"That's _Sir_ Ike to you," the twelve year old corrected. Kyle rolled his eyes.

Outside snow drifted down in fluttery gusts. The rusted pick-up idled in the drive. Stan waved from the driver's side his expression sour. Kyle could see why; Eric Cartman sat next to him in the passenger's seat. Kyle took a double take. Cartman smirked from inside the truck. He rolled down his window and called out to the redhead.

"Get your scrawny Jew ass in the truck. We're going to be late."

Stan glared at him, "I'll only let you stay in the truck if you keep your fat mouth shut."

Cartman laughed. "Whateva."

When he reached the passenger side door, Cartman slipped out of his seat and let Kyle climb up into the truck and sit in the tiny makeshift seat between the driver and passenger. It didn't have a seatbelt. Cartman clambered back into the truck.

"What the fuck are you doing, fatass? Don't you have your own car?" Kyle snapped watching the other boy swing the door shut. The redhead thought of the shiny new sports car Cartman had forced his mother to buy him. She'd caved almost instantly at her heavyset son's pestering. For several weeks afterwards, Cartman drove to each one of his friends' houses and blared his horn until one of them stepped outside. Eric would then proceed to offer them a ride, but as they approached the car, the fat teen sped off howling with laughter.

"Like I'd let a hippie or a Jew or a poor piece of crap like Kenny into my hot new ride," Cartman had gloated watching the other boys walk through the parking lot of Shakey's Pizza having all clambered out of Stan's tiny truck.

And it was a tight fit. Kyle pulled his arms into his chest, hugging his backpack. Stan frowned at the snowy road before them. Ignoring Kyle's question, Cartman lounged back in his seat, his large bulky stomach pressing into Kyle's side. Reaching over the redhead, Cartman turned on the radio. Stan immediately flipped it off.

"I can't concentrate with the radio on," the black-haired teen snapped. A lie, Kyle knew the two of them always argued over what to listen to as they rode together. Stan loved as much music and noise as possible when he drove.

"Suck it up, hippie," Cartman answered turning the radio on once again. He cranked up the volume, and the bass reverberated through the small truck cab. Stan leaned over the steering wheel; he pinched the bridge of his nose. Kyle fumed and dug his elbow into Cartman's large side.

"Turn it off, fatass."

"Stanny needs to grow a pair and stop being a little girl."

Kyle huffed and turned to Stan. "What the fuck is he doing here?"

"He walked over to my house and demanded I drive him to school. Said he needed to start bossing you around as earlier as possible," Stan said through his gritted teeth.

"I would have run him over," Kyle answered not caring that Cartman sat next to him.

"Debated about it, but didn't think Dad would like the blood stains on the driveway."

"You need to grow a backbone, Marsh. How are you going to be the man in your faggy little Super Best Friendship?" Cartman smirked. Stan unthinkingly slipped his foot off the accelerator and onto the brake. He corrected himself and picked up the speed.

Kyle kept his eyes to the front. "What are you talking about, Cartman?" His voice grew high, and the redhead cursed himself for showing the weakness.

Smugly Cartman gazed from one boy to the next.

"So let me guess, Stan tops, right?"

This time Stan nearly swerved into a stop sign. He pulled the truck over the side of the road and turned in his seat to look at the fatter teen.

"What?"

Cartman sneered. "Well we all know Jews can't top, so I assume you do, hippie. Despite how much a girl you are."

Stan looked on the verge of puking. He turned to his window and rolled it down. He leaned out into the cool air and took a heavy breath. Kyle moved his body as much as possible towards Cartman and punched the fat boy in the side.

"Get out!" the redhead screamed his voice cracking. "GET THE FUCK OUT!"

Cartman grabbed at Kyle's wrist and pinned them to his side. "Now, now, Kahl, don't be so hasty. As my slave for the year, you've got to do as I say."

"Doesn't mean you can torture Stan too," Kyle growled.

"So you confess that you two are fucking?"

"We're not fucking, fatass." Kyle blanched visibly. "I don't know what the fuck you're talking about."

Stan opened his door and puked into the snow. Cartman howled with laughter.

"I beg to differ, Jew. Stanny only pukes when he's in love. And I clearly remember a long month last year when all he did was toss his cookies when he saw you. Of course I thought it was simply because you're a disgusting Jew, but I saw you two holdin' hands the other day in the mall. So I just put two and two together."

Kyle heard Stan stumble out into the road, more retching followed. Kyle felt the color drain from his face. He scanned through his memories trying to figure out when Cartman had seen Stan and him holding hands. Suddenly his mind rested on the food court from the other day, when Eric had harassed Jimmy and stolen Clyde's seat. He had claimed he had something on him and Stan, but Kyle knew then it had been a bluff, right? Had the fatass hidden somewhere and watched Kyle's hand slip into Stan's under the table?

Stan stumbled back to the driver's seat. He pointed a shaking hand at Cartman.

"Get out of my car, fatass."

"No."

Stan climbed inside and made a fist at Cartman. Kyle turned from one the other. Cartman continued to smile happily even as Stan reached over Kyle and grabbed the overweight teen by the collar. Eric may have the weight and bulk over Stan, but the quarterback was more than a match for the fatass.

"Get out," Stan warned again. Kyle decided to help too and shoved his elbow into Cartman. But the heavyset boy only pushed Kyle into Stan. Finding the handle, Cartman threw open the door and stepped out onto the side of the road, Stan and Kyle followed suit.

"What a fun secret I've learned," Cartman mused as he watched the other two boys move to stand in front of him. He leaned on the hood of the truck and examined his nails. "It'd be a shame if the town found out its favorite wonder boy quarterback and sneaky Jew nerd were fags."

"Cartman, you know this town's crazy, no one would care," Kyle challenged.

"What about Mommy, Kahl? Does Mommy know you're a pillow biter?"

Stan took a step forward. "S-shut up." His voice wavered, and Kyle could see he shook. Placing a hand on Stan's shoulder, Kyle turned to Eric again.

"You have no proof," Kyle said trying to keep his own anger out of his voice. "What the hell, Cartman? I held Stan's hand? God, you're a retard, like anyone would say we were queer cause of that. We're best friends it's not like its taboo."

Kyle tried his own smirk. "You just don't have any real friends to know what it's like to act around them."

Cartman blinked at the remark. For a brief moment Kyle could have sworn the other boy's confident façade slipped. His eyes appeared to flicker once, but Kyle could not catch the lapse again. Eric smirked.

"I don't know, it's a bit odd of friends to kiss in the back of them gym, though," he said.

Here Cartman pulled out his smart phone. He turned it on and scrolled through the screen. Shoving the phone at Stan and Kyle, the two boys saw a picture of themselves, sitting upon an old multicolored gym mat, their bodies pressed together and their lips locked. Cartman yanked the phone back, flicked it off and replaced it in his back pocket.

Stan leaned heavily against the truck's hood. Kyle dropped his hand from the other boy's shoulder.

"How…how did you? When?" Kyle's voice cracked. Cartman waddled up to the redhead and threw a fat arm around his shoulders. Kyle couldn't find the strength to shake him off.

"Now, now, Kahl, this is how things are going to work, okay? You're going to continue to be my slave, but we're going to make it for two years now. All the rest of high school, sound good? And Stan," Eric grinned at the black-haired boy who buried his face in his hands, "he's going to drive me wherever I want to go. That way I don't have to waste my gas money. My car's too good to drive to school or the grocers."

Neither Stan nor Kyle responded.

Cartman continued, "And if you don't want your bitch of a mom to find out about your faggy relationship, you two will keep your mouths shut and do what I tell you. After all I also still have the fun story about Saturday night's escapades that Mrs. Broflovski might be interested in, Kahl."

Anger and nausea filled Kyle. The world spun around him. This was not good, not good at all. As much as he'd bugged Stan about revealing to their parents their relationship, Kyle feared his mother's reaction more than anything else in the world. The woman was volatile. In fact, Kyle only pestered Stan to tell _his_ parents thinking that if the Marshes were already on their side; his mother might not tear him apart completely when he revealed the secret. Cartman wouldn't hesitate to go straight to Mrs. Broflovski first. That and judging by Stan's reaction he definitely didn't want to come out of the closet via Eric Cartman.

The two distraught friends caught one another's eye. A small nod passed between them and Stan straightened up.

"Fine," he said defeated. "But you've got to swear not to tell anyone."

Cartman crossed his heart, holding his hand up as if pledging. "Of course, Stanley, I'm a man of my word. You two just do as you're told and we'll be fine."

* * *

><p>The rest of the school day was hell. Cartman wasted no time in torturing Kyle and Stan every chance he got. Fortunately for the black-haired boy, Stan didn't receive the full force of Eric's wrath. Kyle, on the other hand, had to deal with every menial whim the fat boy could think up. He bought Cartman two lunches, was forced to let Cartman copy his math homework, and spent a good ten minutes sharpening all of the fat teen's pencils. Next, Cartman told Kyle to use the girl's restroom instead of the boys' from now on because as Eric put it, Kyle was 'the girl of the faggy relationship'. Then Cartman made Kyle carry his book bag upstairs only to send the redhead back down when he requested a new set of colored markers from the school's mini bookstore. Finally, Cartman found it amusing to have Kyle refer to him as master even in conversation with other students, friends, and teachers. Both Clyde and Token gave Kyle an exasperated look when the redhead claimed that 'his master needed him to tie his shoe.'<p>

Although Stan only had to worry about chauffeuring the fatass about town, he hated watching his best friend suffer and be humiliated under Cartman's cruel chores. With gritted teeth he watched as Kyle stooped before the heavyset teen and tied Eric's right shoelace.

"While you're down there, give my boot a kiss, will you Kahl?" Cartman simpered. Stan grimaced and curled his hands into fists. Clyde and Token waited and watched the glare on Kyle's face intensify.

Turning his gaze down to Cartman's large boots, Kyle ground his teeth together and lowered his head closer to the muddy, rubber toe. But before he could kiss the boot, Cartman picked up his foot and kicked Kyle in the face.

The redhead reeled backwards, clutching at his nose. His glasses slipped to the floor, a lens having popped out of place.

"Fuck! Dammit, Cartman!" Kyle roared, getting to his feet and grabbing the front of the other boy's shirt while still holding his bleeding nose with the other. But before he could get in a punch, Stan grabbed him from behind and pulled him backwards.

"Kyle, let's go to the nurse." The redhead struggled against Stan's grip, snatching out with clawed fingers at Eric, who smirked at the boy's antics.

"Dude," Clyde whispered watching Kyle squirm. Token turned to Cartman.

"Come on, man, can't you go one day without messing with him?" asked the black teen. Cartman grinned.

"It wouldn't be a good day without messing with the Jew." He eyed Stan and Kyle smugly. Stan realizing Eric's gaze lingered on his arms, situated around Kyle's chest, he let go of his best friend as if he were on fire.

"Better get him to the nurse's office, Stan, wouldn't want his Jew nose swelling up any bigger." Spinning on his heel, Cartman marched off down the hall leaving the two friends' seething.

Stan helped Kyle to the nurse. When they reached the office the two found Kenny sitting outside the door with his orange coat open. A red stain spread across the blond boy's white t-shirt underneath. He winced as he repositioned himself on the wooden bench. Stan had Kyle sit down next to him and handed him the broken glasses. Kyle shoved the loose lens back into place, and then set them gingerly back on the bridge of his injured nose.

"Dude, what happened to you?" Stan asked Kenny, examining the stain. Despite the question Stan's voice held little concern for the blond.

"Fell," Kenny shrugged, not really paying attention to his friends either. He eyed Kyle's bloody nose without comment.

Stan paced in front of the other two, wringing his hands. He glanced at his injured boyfriend and then stalked off to find the nurse. Kyle leaned his head back, pinching his nose.

"You should lean forward," Kenny mumbled. "The blood'll drain down your throat otherwise."

Kyle blinked a couple of times at his blond friend and then tilted his head forward. He stared down between his knees, blinking at his shoes. Stan returned, kneeling down beside him. Kenny now completely ignored.

"The nurse said to come on back." He helped Kyle out of his seat and the two slid into the office. Kenny watched them, his lips set in a tight line.

Inside the nurse's office, Stan helped Kyle climb up onto the paper covered, padded bench. Kyle switched the hand pinching his nose with the other. Stan moved to the corner and brought the other boy the tissue box.

"Thanks, dude," Kyle mumbled. Stan placed a comforting arm around his friend's shoulder.

When the nurse finally arrived, she examined Kyle's nose. She claimed it wasn't broke, but placed a large bandage over it and had Kyle stuff tissues up his nostrils to stop the bleeding. Kyle blinked several times, catching his reflection in the shiny metal of the paper towel dispenser. He frowned down at his bloodied hands. After she'd finished her administrations, the nurse left the two boys alone. Kyle slid off the bench and moved to the sink. He rinsed his hands clean of the blood, watching the red swirl down the silver drain. Stan stood beside him. Kyle could literally feel the hesitation radiating off the black-haired boy.

Looking up at Stan, Kyle eyed him slowly, waiting. He waited for some physical sign of affection. A touch. A pat on the shoulder. A hug. Although he wouldn't admit it to himself, Kyle wanted Stan to hug him. He wanted the other boy to wrap his arms around him and crush him to his chest. But Stan did no such thing. The nurse had left the door open, and Stan's attention wavered between weighing Kyle's condition, and the slip of hallway he could see out through the door.

Kyle narrowed his eyes. "Don't worry, Stan, I don't think she's listening at the door. I mean God forbid you act like a real boyfriend and comfort me," Kyle snapped, but his voice still soft.

He pushed past his friend and slunk out of the office hallway. Stan scurried after him, catching him by the arm.

"What the fuck, dude?" Stan hissed.

"Let go of me," Kyle said, yanking his arm back. Stan only clung tighter.

"Look, I'm sorry. What do you want me to do?" Stan asked releasing Kyle's arm, but snatching his hand up in his own instead.

Kyle glared down at their entwined fingers. He glanced up at Stan and watched as he scanned the hall for onlookers. Kyle gritted his teeth wanting very much to yank his hand back, but an exhaustion seemed to sweep over him, and he just relented, pleased that Stan had ventured for some physical contact in public.

"Are you guys okay?"

Stan dropped Kyle's hand, turning to see Kenny now shirtless with a fresh bandage wrapped about his torso. His orange coat hung off his shoulders.

"I'm fine," Kyle lied. Stan nodded in agreement.

"Cartman?" Kenny asked. The other two didn't even need to explain to their blond friend the situation. They nodded in unison.

Kenny shrugged. "Bastard, I guess. Just keep away from him for awhile until he cools off, Kyle."

"I can't, dude, remember, I'm his slave," the redhead shot back.

"That's right for watching him drown in the pond."

The nonchalant way in which Kenny spoke those words hit Kyle like a ton of bricks. Something deeper, more cutting lingered under the harsh statement. Kenny's expression remained cold and emotionless. He stared down at Kyle waiting for the redhead to snap back at him. Stan stood with his mouth slightly agape.

Kyle turned from Kenny and beckoned to Stan, "Let's go, dude."

Before the two teens had gone several steps away. Kenny spoke up again.

"By the way, I don't want to do your stupid journal assignment anymore."

Kyle stopped and whipped around. "What? Why?"

The other boy shrugged not making eye contact. "Just don't want to, is all."

Kyle marched back to the lengthy blond and glared up at him. He jabbed a finger into Kenny's bandaged chest.

"What the fuck, dude? What have I done to piss you off all of a sudden?"

Kenny's cold expression didn't shift. "I don't want to do it anymore. I have that right? Don't I?"

"But you said you would," Kyle's anger slipped. He sounded hurt, the day's events slowly creeping up on him. He wanted very much to leave the school and hide. Possibly sleep.

Kenny's disdainful façade fell, but he pulled his face back to emotionless as he addressed Kyle.

"You know I don't always have to do what you guys say," Kenny looked from Stan and then back to Kyle. "You two are always off doing whatever the hell you want. It's just when you need some shit done that you come crawling to me. Let's get Kenny to do it. No one will care if he gets hurt. He's just poor and stupid. No one cares what he thinks."

Kyle stared confused up at Kenny. He shook his head. "What? We don't think that…"

Kenny laughed hollow and low. He watched the nurse walk past before answering.

"You guys never pay any attention to me, unless I can be of use to you. And hell, Kyle, you didn't even want _my_ help with your project. You wanted Mysterion."

"Dude –"

"I'm out of here." Kenny stomped past Kyle, shoving the smaller boy into the wall. Stan moved forward to say something, but Kenny brushed him off too not looking at him.

* * *

><p>Stan and Kyle walked to their hideout behind the gym. Not speaking to one another about the recent turmoil of the day, some sixth sense just seemed to pull the two back into their small hiding place. They sat upon the musty, multicolored gym mats not looking at one another, studying the gym equipment and the volleyball nets. Kyle rubbed at his injured nose. It still stung and dark bruises began to form under his eyes Stan sat, his knees drawn up to his chest and his arms wrapped around them, staring at the floor. Kyle leaned on the other boy's shoulder. They sat in silence for a good half hour.<p>

Exhaustion swept over Kyle and the teen allowed himself to drift off in a half-sleep, resting against Stan. Wordlessly the taller boy wrapped an arm around his friend and pulled him closer. Stan continued to stare at the ground.

Minutes ticked by before Stan spoke.

"What are you going to do?" questioned the black-haired teen.

For some reason the question made Kyle bristle with anger. Why did _he _have to come up with a solution? Couldn't Stan think of something?

Pushing off the other boy, Kyle lay down on his other side, curling into a ball. He closed his eyes and huffed. Stan placed a hand on Kyle's elbow, but the redhead tugged it away.

"Don't," Kyle whispered. Stan moved closer.

"I'm sorry."

"No you're not."

"Dude, look at me. I'm sorry Cartman's got you in this mess. And I'm sorry Kenny's being a dick for no reason."

"That's not good enough, Stan," Kyle mumbled into the dusty gym mat. Stan grabbed Kyle's shoulder and made the redhead look at him.

"What? What do you want me to do?"

Kyle sat up. "Dude, we need to stop this fucking hiding. This is what Cartman's holding over us. Just grow a pair and tell your mom and dad you're my boyfriend!"

Stan shoved him down, and in the same motion got to his feet and stalked off into the opposite corner. He kicked at a loose volleyball net.

"And what about your parents, dude?" Stan's voice radiated a forced calm. He glared at a set of jump ropes. "Aren't you going to tell them anything? Last time I checked you've been hiding _a lot_ from your mother."

Kyle leapt up, storming up to Stan. "Shut up. I've not been hiding."

Stan shrugged his shoulders, not looking at his friend. "Whatever."

Kyle raised his fist, debating on punching Stan in his shoulder blade. But before he could make up his mind, Stan whipped around to face him. The two boys stared at one another, each one's eyes narrowed in a glare.

Before Kyle could open his mouth to snap at his Super Best Friend, however, Stan had thrown his arms around the shorter boy, pulling him tight against his chest.

"W-what?" Kyle managed to blurt out, his face muffled by Stan's letterman jacket.

"Dude, I don't like arguing with you," Stan said, his chin resting on top of Kyle's head. Kyle could feel Stan's jaw wobble as he spoke, even through his green hat. "I'm sorry for being – for being a fucking coward."

Kyle frowned into Stan's chest, but wrapped his arms around the other teen's back. "I'm sorry too. For snapping and hiding too."

They clung to one another for a few minutes, the quiet stretching between them. Gripping one another tight, neither boy moved, even when a stray basketball tipped out of its rack and bounced away on the floor.

Stan was startled into speech. "I just…I just don't know what to really think about all this," he began. "I mean I guess my parents wouldn't kick me out; I just don't want to have _that conversation_ with my father, you know? He overreacts to everything. And though he might not disown me, I'll always wonder if he thinks any less of me. And then, I don't know what will everyone else think?"

Kyle pulled back from Stan. "I know what you mean, I'm not ready to tell my mom, but if we don't tell someone, Cartman's going to hold this over our heads forever. I think the alternative from Cartman is our best bet."

Stan ran his fingers through his hair. "Fine, let's tell them. Our parents; we'll get them all together; we'll sit them down and tell them. Get it out of the way. And if your mom tries to kill you, well, she'll have to get through me first."

Kyle beamed up at his Super Best Friend. "Yeah, telling them altogether sounds good."

"God, you guys are such fags."

Stan and Kyle lurched apart, turning to their eavesdropper. Cartman swaggered over, his book bag swinging from his hand. He scrutinized Stan's pale, nauseated-looking face to Kyle's infuriated red one. The fat teen laughed.

"Time to go home, Stanley. I need you to drop me off," Cartman explained.

Stan stepped forward. "No."

Cartman raised an eyebrow. "What was that? A 'no'? I'm sorry I guess you want me telling everyone you're a couple of fags."

"Go a-ahead," Stan challenged. Kyle sneered at Cartman from behind Stan's back.

"Yeah, fatass tell whoever you please. We don't care anymore. We just decided to tell them ourselves," Kyle informed his nemesis.

Cartman blinked, unfazed. He pulled out his cell phone, touching it on.

"Well, I could tell your mother you're a queer, Kahl, or I could tell her about your little lapse in judgment at Stark's Pond. Which one first, hmm?"

Kyle balked. He had totally spaced the other reason why Cartman was making his life hell at the moment. Curling his hands into fist, Kyle bit his lip, hesitating on whether or not he should try and stop the overweight teen.

"She wouldn't believe you, fatass," Stan said taking a step backwards and reaching for Kyle's hand. Finding it, he gave it a small squeeze.

Recovering his voice, Kyle agreed, "Y-yeah, s-she'd never believe you, Cartman. I'm her son after all, and she knows how much you hate me."

But another part of Kyle deep down worried not so much for his mother's doubt of Cartman's word, but rather the redhead worried over his own lapse in moral judgment. He had watched the other boy drown. Not that Cartman deserved anything, but Kyle somehow felt that by braving his enemy's harassment he might absolve some sin. A cleansing ritual he might call it. Something to set his own conscious at ease.

"She also knows how much _you_ hate _me_," Cartman added, interrupting Kyle's thoughts. His fingers traced the screen of his phone.

"Just let it go, dude," Stan tried to appease. Cartman snickered at him.

"You know, Stan, that letterman jacket looks good on you. Hate for you to lose it," Eric mused, his eyes still on his cell phone.

"What do you mean?" Stan pressed.

"Remember," Cartman faked a laugh, "oh gosh it was almost a year ago, remember? When Butters tried to get on the football team? I mean I know I dared his stupid ass to try out, but you remember that, right?"

Kyle glanced up at Stan; the black-haired teen had stiffened.

"Coach took one look at Butters and sent him packing, remember? Told Butters to his face that he wasn't big enough to play football, but you remember what he said to us after that practice, right?"

Stan stared blankly ahead his expression strained. "Coach was being an asshole. Butters isn't gay."

"He sure acts like it. Coach thought so too," Cartman explained. Kyle's eyes widened with realization. He looked from Stan to Cartman.

"Cartman…." Stan almost pleaded.

"Coach said he didn't need any fairies on the team, prancing about his football stadium. If Butters wanted to participate so badly he should join the cheer squad," Cartman continued. Stan's hand began to shake between Kyle's fingers.

"He said that?" Kyle ventured looking at Stan. "What an asshole."

Stan stared at a spot some inches above Cartman's head. He avoided looking at his best friend.

"He also said that if Butters didn't cut it out, someone might get the wrong idea…." Stan whispered. He swallowed hard. "Coach said someone might mess his shit up if he kept acting like a little fag in public…."

"And?" Cartman pressed.

"And no fag would ever play football on Coach's watch, whether – whether it was – whether…" Stan couldn't finish.

Eric ended his sentence for him. "Whether it was in high school or college."

Kyle dropped Stan's hand and marched over to Cartman and shoved the overweight boy into a rack of dodge balls. Eric staggered on his feet, laughing in the redhead's face.

"Kiss that scholarship goodbye, Stanny." Cartman pressed a button on his phone. It began to ring. Stan stood frozen in place.

Kyle grabbed for the phone. "Stop! Goddammit put it up! We won't tell our parents anything. And – and I'll do whatever you want."

Glancing back at Stan, Kyle watched the other boy duck his head in shame. Kyle knew that Stan's whole life was for football. Stan was a smart kid, but nowhere near had he the capacity of intelligence Kyle boasted. Stan's ticket out of South Park was a full-ride football scholarship. Everyone in town knew it and expected it. Stan had nothing else to fall back on. Football had become his goal, his dream. Kyle would not shatter it for anything. Let their parents remain in the dark, let Kyle lick Cartman's boots, and do the fatass's homework. If he could keep Stan happy and safe from the fat teen's wrath, hell, Kyle would call Cartman master even.

Cartman slipped his phone back into his pocket. Rocking back on his heels the fat boy smiled warmly at the other two.

"Well, guess it's time for you to take us home, Stan?"

Without a word Stan nodded. He and Kyle followed Cartman out of the gym and into the parking lot.

* * *

><p>Thanks for reading. I hope I'm not getting to over my head with this. Oh well.<p>

_**Please review! Comments and constructive criticism very much welcomed!**_


	4. Wanted to Remember

I'm on a roll. Here's chapter four, my friends. Just one more chapter to go after this. Thanks for reading along

**Summary:** For a high school project Kyle decides to follow his friend Kenny around as he plays Mysterion. But a serious accident forces Kyle to suffer at Cartman's whim. Can the boys find a way to reconcile the catastrophe and bring things back to normal?

Bad summary I know, but I'm not very good at them.

**Rating:** T because of language cause duh it's South Park

**Pairings:** Stan x Kyle

**Disclaimer:** I do not own South Park or it's characters. This is just for fun and for writing practice.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Four – Wanted to Remember<strong>

Stan dropped Cartman off at his house first. Kicking open the passenger door, Eric slid down to the cold ground and turned back to the other boys. He grinned up at Kyle, who had shifted to occupy Cartman's vacated seat.

Leaning back into the truck, Cartman grabbed Kyle by the upper arm and began to drag him out of his seat.

"Come on, Jew, I've got some chores that need doing," said the fat teen, tugging the redhead down. Kyle shook himself free.

"I've got homework, douchebag," Kyle growled trying to catch hold of the door handle. Cartman blocked his way, latching onto one of the other boy's wrist.

"Nuh uh, Kahl, you got to do whatever I say, when I say it. That's the point of a slave, Jew." Eric twisted Kyle's arm hard.

Pulling back Kyle swore, "Fine, fuck! Just let go, dammit."

With a fleeting look at Stan, who appeared to be on the verge of nausea once more, Kyle waved to his Super Best Friend half-heartedly and stepped out of the truck. Cartman slammed the door behind him.

Stan idled in the driveway watching the two head up to the house. Every now and then Kyle would glance back at the vehicle. Stan continued to stare at the other two; he leaned heavily on his own car door, as if debating about springing out and following Kyle inside his enemy's house. But when Cartman unlocked his front door and turned to wait for Kyle to reach him, the heavyset teen gazed towards the truck and gave Stan an ironic wave. Eric grinned and made a 'shoo, shoo' motion at Stan, stepping aside to let Kyle in through the front door. Stan started the engine, but didn't make a move to leave. It wasn't until Cartman slammed the front door behind him that Stan inched his way out of the drive. His eyes never left Cartman's house as he drove away down the street.

Inside Kyle stood, his arms crossed, watching Eric shrug off his red leather jacket and kick off his heavy boots. The larger boy stooped down and retrieved his backpack heading for the staircase.

"Come on, Jew, time to do my bidding," Cartman snickered taking the stairs two at a time. He waited at the top of the landing.

As if his legs were made out of lead, Kyle followed as slowly as he could. When he reached the top, Cartman turned from him and continued to head down the hall. The large boy came to the last door and pushed it open. Kyle stumbled after him, rubbing at his injured nose. He'd removed the tissue from his nostrils, now the injury only stung and the bandage itched something horrible.

Kyle stepped into Cartman's room and watched as the fat boy tossed his book bag onto his overlarge bed. Eric walked over to his computer and started it up. Discarded clothing littered the floor. A smell of chocolate and gravy seemed to perpetually linger in the room. Kyle would have wrinkled his nose at the odd combination, but it kind of hurt to do so.

"Well, fatass, what do you want me to do?" Kyle mumbled setting down his own bag and removing his coat.

"Master," Cartman whirled around in his comfy leather chair, "That's master to you, Jew."

Kyle gritted his teeth, "Fine, _master_, what do you want me to do?"

Swinging the chair slightly back and forth, he rubbed his wide chin surveying Kyle up and down. He didn't speak for a long time, allowing the redhead to grow impatient again and huff by the door.

Finally Cartman smirked. "In my closet is a hamper. Pull it out."

Kyle did as he was told. He threw open the closet door as hard and gracelessly as he could manage, banging it off the wall Inside amongst shirts, pants, and Cartman's growing collection of slick, refined suits was a red plastic laundry hamper. Kyle tugged it out and slammed it down in the middle of the room. He waited for further instruction.

Still rubbing his chin in a thoughtful manner, Cartman said, "Pick up all the dirty laundry." He waved his hand to the room at large.

Kyle didn't respond. He went to his task in silence, almost violently snatching dirty socks and t-shirts from off the ground and tossing them into the red hamper. He kept his back to Cartman trying to keep his temper in check. Kyle wanted nothing more than to whirl around and punch the other boy in his stupid fat face.

As Kyle drew a wide pair of jeans out from under Cartman's bed, the fat teen said, "How's the nose, Kahl?"

The redhead ignored him and continued to search under the bed for clothing. Cartman made his desk chair squeak as he leaned back and crossed one leg over the other. He looked very much like a Bond villain.

"I asked you a question, slave," Eric added. Kyle withdrew his head from underneath the bed.

"What?" he snapped.

Eric frowned. He narrowed his eyebrows, pulling out his phone once more. Kyle got the hint.

"What, _master_?" he corrected. Cartman smiled.

"How's the nose?" the larger teen smirked. "'Fraid it'll swell even bigger? Then again I doubt anyone will notice; it was already horrendously huge to begin with."

Still pushing articles of clothing into the hamper, Kyle replied, "It feels better, so there. And it's not going to get bigger, you fat fuck" Kyle let the words escape his mouth without a second thought. Eric Cartman made it very difficult for the redhead to censor himself.

Cartman glared at Kyle. "You really don't want Stanny to have that scholarship, do you Kahl?"

Kyle whipped his head up at the other boy. Cartman still played with his phone. Kyle gulped, "No, don't. I mean," he gritted his teeth, "Sorry, master. I didn't mean it."

"You didn't mean what, exactly?" Cartman continued standing up and moving towards Kyle.

Flinching at the sudden movement, Kyle responded through clenched teeth. "I'm sorry for the ill remark. You – you're not fat…you're big boned." Kyle hated himself right now. He added quickly, "Master."

Cartman sat back down, slipping the phone into his front shirt pocket. "Very good, Kahl. See this is a learning experience. You're going to have to get use to it. After all, you're my slave now. Isn't that right?"

Feeling defeat wash over him, Kyle nodded. "Yes, master." He thought of Stan. He was doing this for Stan.

"Alright, Jew, follow me." Pulling himself lethargically out of the cushy chair, Cartman crossed the room and opened the door. Kyle followed, tugging the large and now heavy hamper behind him.

Descending the stairs Cartman beckoned over his shoulder for the other boy to follow. Kyle huffed and dragged his heavy burden down. The plastic hamper bumped crazily against each carpeted step. Kyle fumed inwardly berating Cartman for having clothes that appeared to be just as heavy as the teen himself. Several times the redhead had to pause and readjust his grip on the oversized basket. He would have liked to have slung it over his shoulder, but felt that the hamper's weight would only knock him to the ground.

Reaching the first floor, Cartman turned the corner and headed into the kitchen. Kyle dragged himself after the fat teen. Past the kitchen and in a separate, smaller room stood a fancy, up-to-date washer and dryer. Cartman swept his hand in the direction of the machines.

"There you go, Jew." Eric retreated to the corner where a padded folding chair stood. He sunk into it, causing the small chair to groan under his weight. Kyle dragged the hamper over to the washer.

Tossing aside the basket's handle, Kyle looked around for detergent. His eyes fell on a wooden set of shelves drilled into the wall. At the very top of the shelf stood a large bottle; it was inches from the ceiling.

"Why the hell is it all the way up there?" Kyle fumed, turning to Cartman. The larger boy shrugged, tugging a folded, red notebook from out of the back of his jean pocket. Kyle stared at it.

"Dude, is that the notebook for our Psychology assignment?" Kyle asked pointing at the red journal. Cartman smiled.

"Yep. Guess who I picked to follow?" Eric leaned back in his chair causing it to creak in protest.

Kyle felt his face rush with color. He suddenly felt very exposed. The idea that Cartman may have been tailing him about since last Friday filled Kyle's mind. He wouldn't put it past Cartman to stalk his every waking moment. He knew too much about Kyle. He always did. The picture of him and Stan on Cartman's phone proved that much. How long had he chosen to follow Kyle? Was Eric just now making the decision? Was the strange incident at the pond perhaps a staged performance? Did Cartman want to see how Kyle would react in that situation? Oh god, did he write down everything? Would he reveal to the whole class Kyle's mistake? Would he drag his and Stan's name through mud?

Kyle leaned against the dryer, his sweaty palms slipping against the metal surface. Cartman watched him like a fat cat eyeing a wary mouse. Kyle felt his knees shake. _How much does he know about me? I know he's snuck into my room before. Oh dear god, what if he followed me to Stan's? Did he see us together? How much does he know?_

"Now, now, Kahl, the laundry isn't going to wash itself. The soaps up there," Cartman said with a smile. He pointed to the detergent bottle high up on its shelf.

Forcing his legs to support him, Kyle clambered up onto the dryer. He stood up and leaned out over the floor trying to reach the shelf. It was still too high for him and too far from the dryer itself. He cursed his stunted genes and his maternal side of the family for his shortness. Glancing down at Cartman he saw the fat boy watch his every move. He pulled from out of his pocket a blue pen and clicked it open. He set it upon a page half filled with writing. His eyes never left Kyle's precarious position.

"Go on, Kahl, get it."

Reaching out Kyle managed to brush the thick bottle's handle with his fingertips. He scooted his feet closer to the edge of the dryer. His other hand gripped the wall, but he felt his sweaty palm inch slowly against the white surface finding no hold. Cartman wrote a long sentence ending it with a flourish of his pen. His eyes locked onto Kyle's. He smiled.

Determined, Kyle made a small jump forward, stretching out his hand. His fingers slid around the handle, and he tugged it towards himself.

Just as he pulled the bottle forward, the shelf gave out and Kyle lost his footing.

The world hung still for what seemed ages. Kyle watched as the heavy bottle plummeted to the ground and the shelves topple away into space. His weight shifted and his feet left the solid surface of the dryer. From some far distance, he heard the clatter of metal hit the floor and a great whirlwind of color flooded Kyle's vision. He hit something hard against his chest. But instead of feeling his body smack into plastic tiles or his knees shatter on the solid, cement-like floor of that tiny back room; Kyle landed on something solid, but soft.

Kyle opened his eyes. He never realized he'd closed them. Cartman was beside him, a strained and annoyed look on his face. Suddenly the whole picture came into focus.

Cartman held him about the waist with one arm. Kyle hovered inches above the floor, pressed to Eric's side with the other teen half kneeling, half-crouching beside him. With a quick deft movement, Cartman righted Kyle and then shoved him down onto the floor. Hitting his tailbone against the cold, abrasive tiles, Kyle stared, his mouth wide open at his enemy. Cartman stood up straight and dusted off the knees of his jeans. He walked back over to his metal folding chair. It lay on its side, thrown wildly into the opposite corner from where the fat teen had been sitting. He picked up the chair and brought it back to his original position. Leaning down, Cartman picked up his notebook from the ground, finding his place he opened the book and proceeded to scribble a few more lines.

"W-what," Kyle found his voice trembling with adrenaline. "W-what j-just happened?"

"You fell, dumbass," Cartman snorted his eyes on his notebook. His face was flushed.

Kyle looked from the detergent bottle now lying innocently on the floor to the broken shelf inches from his hand. The redhead gazed at Cartman. The fatter teen huffed and scratched out a line he'd made in the notebook.

"Y-you c-caught me?" Kyle asked still sitting on the floor. He didn't think his legs had the strength to support him at the moment. Cartman finally glanced up at him, the old smirk returning to his wide face.

"Of course, Kahl," Cartman said in a cracking voice. "If you broke your scrawny Jew ass, who would finish my laundry? Plus I'd have to go find another idiot to follow for this fucking project."

He waved the notebook in front of Kyle's face. The redhead blinked at it a couple times. Shakily, Kyle pulled himself into a standing position with the support of the washer behind him. Cartman turned his attention back to the notebook.

"B-but," Kyle faltered. "But I thought you'd want me to fall?"

Cartman glared at the other boy. "Why the fuck would I want that, Kahl? Like I said, you can't do my chores with a broken arm or leg. Now clean my clothes, slave."

The larger boy pointed at the red hamper. Kyle shuffled over to it and began dragging out articles of clothing. His hands shook as he picked up the detergent bottle and poured out the liquid into a measuring cup. He spilled some onto the white surface of the dryer on accident.

Cartman barked behind him. "Watch it, slave."

Without thinking, Kyle answered, "Yes, master."

He was too shaken up to argue anymore. The idea of Cartman voluntarily being nice to him had always disturbed Kyle. He didn't know why. Just a few seconds ago he would have sworn that Cartman had placed the detergent up on the top-most shelf just to watch Kyle fall in his attempt to retrieve it. He thought Cartman would have loved the idea of Kyle limping around in a cast trying to vacuum his room. Instead the fatass had caught him. Without hesitation he'd thrown away his chair and grabbed Kyle before he hit the ground. What the hell?

Kyle turned the dial on the machine, watching the water fill up over the dark clothes he had tossed into the circular tub. Maybe it was a mind trick, a mind fuck more like it. Kyle had watched Cartman drown at the pond. Was this Cartman's way of getting back at him? _I saved your neck from snapping on the tile floor, while you would have let me drown?_ Kyle found himself guessing at Cartman's true reason. It still unsettled him.

The soapy suds began to swirl around in the machine. Kyle dropped the lid shut. He turned back to Cartman who still sat with his head bent and his attention on his notebook. However, he'd ceased to write.

"I guess we have to wait for that load to be done, slave," Cartman said getting to his feet and not looking at Kyle. "Come on follow me."

Nodding Kyle shuffled after the larger boy. They stood in the kitchen, and Cartman gazed about trying to find something for the redhead to do. He slunk over to the kitchen table and sat down. He looked at Kyle for the first time and his face was once more set in a smug grin.

"Make me a sandwich, Jew." He pointed to the refrigerator. Kyle nodded and scurried over to open it.

"What do you want?" Kyle found himself asking. Cartman grunted behind him, raising an eyebrow.

"What do you want, master?" Kyle corrected once again his voice quiet and strained.

"Ham sandwich," Cartman grinned.

"Of course," Kyle murmured under his breath turning to the fridge again.

* * *

><p>Later that evening Kyle sat on Stan's bed relating his strange day to his Super Best Friend. Still disturbed by Cartman's actions, the redhead rested his head on Stan's shoulder and let the other boy drape an arm around his waist.<p>

"Well, I guess that explains a lot," Stan was saying. "I mean this whole time he's using us like guinea pigs. I just wonder when he _did_ start to follow us. He – he knew about the back room in the gym, you know?"

"You don't think he followed you once after practice to see where you were going?" Kyle offered his voice flat, his eyes on his hands folded in his lap.

Stan frowned. "I guess that's it. But you'd think he'd be easy to spot. He's not exactly the kind of guy who can hide easily."

Kyle knew Stan was trying to make him laugh. Even in a roundabout way, poking fun at Cartman's weight had always been a way to cheer Kyle up. Tonight, however, he couldn't shake the unsettling feeling that had grown within him. Cartman had helped him. Why? Was it for the project? A way to get a wider range of emotions from Kyle for it? The redhead gripped the bed covers, frowning at his feet. It was some twisted work of revenge, he could only conclude. Cartman just wanted to fuck with his head. Make him worry over his own sense of morals.

Stan squeezed his arm around Kyle tighter. Slowly he wrapped his other arm around his boyfriend, pulling him closer.

"Maybe he'll let up on us once the project is over?" Stan offered trying to smile.

"Why didn't he just let me smack my face against the floor? Of all the times I've beat up on him? And then just today he kicked me in the face? What the fuck is with him?"

Stan sighed realizing Kyle was still too distracted and worked up. Pushing himself off the bed, Kyle paced before the black-haired boy. Watching his boyfriend closely, Stan waited for Kyle's anxiety to wear out.

"Don't let him get to you, dude," Stan said helpfully. "That's what he's trying to do here. It's one thing to blackmail us, but this is Cartman. He wouldn't just be satisfied with that. He'd want to mess with us mentally too. Like you said the other day, he'd be the one to stay focused while his victim slowly lost their wits."

Kyle paused in his pacing. His thoughts traveled back to Saturday night. Had Cartman really been that drunk? The smell of alcohol had gagged Kyle and Cartman's actions were sporadic and uncalculated. So un-Cartman like. What the fuck had he been thinking? But had it been an act? And what was Cartman's motivation for spray painting the old covered bridge? Nothing made sense to Kyle.

"That's why I don't get him," Kyle said slowly. "First he's drunk off his ass, completely out of the ordinary, and then he's manipulating me, which is to be expected, but then this?"

Stan ran a hand through his hair. "Maybe something's happened to him? Something's making him act like this? Maybe the shock of death? I know he's angry with you for you know…" Stan waved his hands in an unhelpful manner, "but that could have shocked him. The thought of even _you_ hurting yourself so severally might scare him?"

Kyle didn't buy that explanation. Would a brush with death spook Eric Cartman so badly that he'd try and keep others from experiencing it too? Maybe it had been an instinctive reaction for Cartman? It had all happened so quickly.

Stan reached out a hand and grabbed a hold of Kyle's arm, pulling him back onto the bed. Wrapping his arms around his boyfriend once again, Stan buried his face in Kyle's shoulder.

"Don't let it eat away at you," Stan whispered into the fabric of Kyle's green jacket. "You always obsess over the shit he does."

Kyle closed his eyes pressing his cheek on the top of Stan's head, his own arms finding their place around Stan's shoulders.

"I know, but I feel it's kind of my job," Kyle mused, smiling for the first time.

"Shitty job, dude," Stan said pushing Kyle back onto the bed. He knelt over the other, pressing their foreheads together.

* * *

><p>At his locker the next day, Kyle fidgeted with his combination, stumbling through the numbers. He wore a thick ugly green sweater, a gift from his mother during one Chanukah several years ago. Its sleeves frayed at the end, random strings of yarn unfurling at odd intervals. Despite its appearance the sweater was a turtleneck and one of the few items of clothing Kyle owned that had a collar high enough to hide his neck.<p>

Stan smiled shyly at the redhead. He pointed at the collar.

"Sorry I got carried away last night," he whispered, blushing. Kyle smiled to himself finally yanking open his stubborn locker.

"I don't mind, dude," he murmured.

Tuesday had been unusually happy compared to the last couple of days. Stan arrived at Kyle's house sans Cartman. And when the two arrived at school Eric was nowhere to be found. The markings of a perfect day in Kyle's eyes.

"Mr. Broflovski!"

Kyle spun around; Mr. Mackey stomped up beside him pointing a warning finger at him. The skinny counselor's nostrils flared in anger as he pushed his wire-framed glasses up his nose almost violently. Kyle shrunk away from the counselor.

"Yes, Mr. Mackey?" Kyle asked innocently.

"I was lenient with you last week, but what gives you the right to skip out on detention?" Mr. Mackey hurled, placing his hands on his hips. Kyle flinched. "M'kay, listen I didn't call your mother cause I sympathized with you, but that doesn't mean you can come and go to detention whenever you feel like it, m'kay?"

Kyle felt his stomach drop. In all the craziness of the past weekend, he'd totally spaced his punishment from last week. "I'm so sorry, Mr. Mackey. I-I had a lot happen to me. I just forgot. I'm so sorry!"

Mr. Mackey crossed his arms and glared down at Kyle.

"You – you haven't called my mom about this, have you Mr. Mackey?" Kyle asked his voice small. The guidance counselor visibly blanched.

"Not yet, Mr. Broflovski, but your parents should know about your skipping, m'kay," Mr. Mackey informed. Kyle felt the color drain from his face.

Stan took a step forward, "Mr. Mackey it's not Kyle's fault. You see that bandage on his nose? He had to go to the nurse for it, and well afterwards he wasn't feeling too good, so I took him home."

The counselor didn't appear convinced, but he did give Kyle's nose a better look. His expression softened only slightly.

"What happened, Kyle?" Mackey asked. "Another fight?"

Kyle shook his head. "No!"

"Cartman kicked him in the face," Stan spat.

Mackey nodded, "I see. Did you provoke Eric?" Although he asked the question, both boys sighed in relief, Mr. Mackey didn't sound as concerned as he did a moment ago.

"No. He just kicked me when my guard was down," Kyle informed the counselor. Mr. Mackey took off his glasses and rubbed at his eyes. Replacing the lenses he looked from Kyle's bandaged nose and scuffed glasses to Stan and his determined stance behind his friend.

"Fine, I believe you, Kyle," confided Mackey. "But you will report to detention today and for the rest of the week. You will make up the Monday's detention you skipped next week too, m'kay?"

Kyle nodded glad Mr. Mackey had remained fair, but he still had one concern.

"And my mother?" Kyle began. Mr. Mackey waved a hand back and forth to silence the redhead.

"She won't be called. A small mistake like this doesn't need to be shared, m'kay," Mackey explained. With that said he left the two boys.

"Dude, sweet," Stan said giving Kyle a high five.

"Wow, this day just gets better and better. For sure there I thought he was going to tell my mom."

"Yeah, I guess he's as scared of her as you are." Stan laughed. Kyle hit him in the shoulder.

The rest of the day went by without event. Cartman appeared in his classes, but paid little attention to either Stan or Kyle. Every now and then when Kyle would glance over at the fat teen he'd seen him scribbling away in his Psych notebook. Not wanting the sight to ruin his strangely worry-free day, Kyle tried to ignore him and keep his mind from creating a number of theories on what was going on in Cartman's head.

At the end of day, Stan and Kyle parted ways. Waiting for the hall to clear out, Stan gave Kyle a quick peck on the cheek telling him he'd pick him up after football practice. Once again a small sign of fortune, Kyle's detention ended right about the same time Stan ended his practice. They'd be able to drive home together.

The detention hall was located in the back of the library. A small room off to the side of the main area where the movie projector was kept and a long bookshelf filled with encyclopedias rested. Two long tables had been set up inside for the students to sit. Kyle slid into a seat at the back next to the wide window. The blinds were drawn, but the fading afternoon sunlight filtered inside, dancing lines across the table's warped surface. Brushing away some eraser dust, Kyle stacked his books and notebooks in front of him, readying himself for the long evening of work.

Slowly other students trickled in. Kenny slunk his way into the room, searching for a seat. He didn't carry a backpack instead under his arm was a large roll of magazines. Without thinking Kyle raised his hand to catch his friend's attention. Seeing the redhead's wave, Kenny gave the room one more sweep, before settling down in the seat next to Kyle. He slapped his roll of magazines upon the table, and Kyle could see that most of them were Playboys.

"Aren't you afraid Mr. Mackey will see them?" Kyle asked a smile creeping onto his face. Kenny shrugged and tugged one magazine free of his pile. He flipped it open and propped it up in front of his nose.

Kyle sighed. It appeared Kenny still wasn't in a good mood.

Mr. Mackey walked in next. He proceeded to explain to the room at large that they were in detention, m'kay, and that no one was allowed to talk. The time would be spent productively until six o'clock came when the students would be dismissed. The guidance counselor then exited the room, closing the door behind him. He hadn't noticed Kenny.

When Mr. Mackey let them go at six, Kenny rose from his seat and bolted for the door. Desperate, Kyle threw his homework and books carelessly in his bag and sprinted after his friend. He pushed his way past Craig who stumbled into the doorframe. The black-haired teen huffed and flipped off Kyle's retreating back.

Out in the hall, Kyle caught sight of Kenny, shoving his magazines in his locker. Rushing forward, the redhead skidded to halt in front of the taller boy and slammed his locker close.

"We need to talk, dude," Kyle explained. Kenny stared down at his friend, not even flinching at Kyle's glare.

"Alright, let's talk then." Turning on his heel, Kenny crossed the hall to the exit. Kyle scurried after him, pushing through a pair of double doors. He followed Kenny until they reached the entrance to the gym.

Kyle paused. "Why are we going in here?" A sinking feeling filled his stomach.

Holding the door open for his friend, Kenny replied, "I've decided to be honest with you. Come in."

To Kyle's dismay the two made their way to the equipment room in the back. Inside Kenny walked to the middle of the floor to stand upon the gym mats. He turned to look at Kyle.

"Yesterday, I came in here to apologize to you," Kenny began. His eyes traced his friend's face, watching his reactions carefully. "I was over there by the basketballs, when I saw you two."

Kenny pointed to the plastic rack in the corner nearest to the door. Kyle edged away from it, feeling the pit of his stomach drop out.

"Oh," said Kyle.

"Yeah," Kenny shrugged. "So…you and Stan…?"

"Yep."

"That's cool."

"Is it?"

Kenny shrugged for what seemed like the fiftieth time that day. "I really don't care, dude. Not too surprised."

Kyle started. "What?"

For the first time, a smile flitted across Kenny's thin face. "I said I wasn't surprised. I mean remember last year when he carried you around all the time when you'd hurt your foot? God, I thought any day you two were going to announce the engagement. I wanted dibs on best man." He paused his smiling twitching. "Though you started ignoring me more often after that."

Kyle's stomach squirmed. "You- we were –were we that obvious?" Kyle's heart battered against his chest.

Kenny laughed. "Kinda. I mean I tried getting Wendy to show me her tits 'cause I told her Stan wouldn't appreciate them the way I could. He had something else to distract him now."

Kyle let out a nervous laugh, the color rushing to his face. "So is this all you wanted to tell me? You saw us? I want to know why the hell you were such a dick to me the other day."

Looking strangely old and weary, Kenny sat down upon the gym mats. He beckoned for Kyle to join him. The redhead sat down cross legged and became very aware at how much Kenny's presence on the mats disturbed the intimate picture he'd built up in his head with Stan in their hiding place.

"I really did like that you picked me for your project, Kyle," Kenny confessed. He tugged at a hole in the green mat he sat upon. "I was –well – flattered that of all people you chose me."

"Well, you're cool, dude," Kyle said fixing his mouth into a smile.

"No, I'm not. I'm a poor kid on the opposite end of the tracks. My parents are drunks and pot heads. If you were going to do a report on me, it'd be for a charity case," Kenny whispered a sad grin on his own lips. "No, that's why you asked me to be Mysterion. Cause that's what's cool about me."

Kyle didn't respond. Kenny didn't sound like he wanted his friend's commentary. The blond tore out some yellow stuffing from his gym mat.

"You remember when we played super heroes as kids?" Kenny asked abruptly. Kyle started.

"Sure, dude, how can I not? Cthulhu?"

Kenny rubbed at his eyes simultaneously pulling his hood up. "Yeah, Cthulhu." He remained thoughtful for a few moments as if deciding how best to word his next sentence.

"Do you recall what my super power was?"

Kyle nodded slowly. "You said Mysterion couldn't die."

"Yes. Mysterion can't die, and _I_ can't die, Kyle."

Shifting where he sat, Kyle subtly scooted away from his friend. Kenny watched him, his face once again a mask of hidden emotion. The blond pulled his hood lower over his face. Kyle could no longer see the other teen's eyes.

"I shouldn't be mad at you guys for not remembering, but it gets old," Kenny continued as if nothing had happened. "And last Saturday when you pushed Cartman into the pond, I almost didn't jump in after him. I told myself you could do it. Let Kyle deal with his own problems, I'm not killing myself for the fatass, especially if no one will remember it the next day."

For a minute Kyle could hear nothing but a strange high pitch buzzing as his mind swam the images of Saturday night's adventure over him.

Kyle opened his mouth several times trying to speak, but his tongue felt strangely heavy.

Kenny ignored him, continuing, "But I couldn't stand still. I'm Mysterion after all. I just hoped I'd get through it alive. I mean I weighed the odds. You were there so if I began to struggle you'd help. But Cartman's fat foot knocked me out. That's all I could remember. Then I woke up Sunday in my orange parka and went to the movies. I guess I'm happy it was one of my least painful deaths. I should thank Cartman for that."

Taking off his hat and running both hands through his curly hair, Kyle stared at his feet. He blinked trying to remember everything about Saturday night, but Kenny's words only frightened him rather than help clear up anything. And a part of him believed the other boy. He couldn't have dragged Cartman's body out of Stark's Pond by himself.

"You…" Kyle said in a small voice. Kenny waited his head titling up as if to look at Kyle, but the blond boy's eyes were still hidden by his hood.

"That's why I've been mad at you. You don't remember me dying. And for a minute there, when I saw you in the movies, I thought you might remember." Kenny smiled, raising his head and showing his whole face. His eyes were wet. He added in a softer voice, one Kyle almost didn't hear. "That and you've been ignoring me. We hardly hang out anymore."

Kyle shook as he spoke. "I couldn't figure it out. Stan said it was adrenaline. That that was how I pulled him out, but…."

"It's cool don't hurt yourself trying to remember something you can't."

Kyle scrunched up his eyes, hitting his head lightly with his fists. "It didn't make any sense. How could I have done it all by myself? And then for you to completely disappear on me?"

Kenny nodded his body sagging as if with exhaustion. He got to his feet brushing off his jeans. Kyle shot up off the mats too, tripping over his feet as he did so.

"I'll do my project on you, Kenny. Just you if you want. No Mysterion stuff."

Kenny shook his head. "Kyle."

Without answering Kyle pulled out his green journal. He had buried it under his textbooks, almost forgetting its presence. Yanking it free of his overstuffed folders and bent notebooks, the redhead retrieved the small book.

"Please, Ken, I don't know who else to follow. I don't want to do my parents," Kyle wheedled, opening his notebook as if to emphasize his words. "And I _want_ to follow you."

He froze when he glanced down at the open page. He dropped the notebook as if it stung. Kenny eyed him, concerned at the strange behavior.

"Are you okay?"

Kyle could only point at the green journal. Kenny bent and picked it up. He tried to hand it back to Kyle, but the redhead shook his head, still pointing at the notebook.

"Open it," Kyle whispered. "The fourth page – read it."

Kenny did as he was asked. He eyed Kyle warily as he found the proper page. He folded the notebook in on itself, so that he could read just page four. His eyes skimmed the scratchy handwriting confused, but as his gaze settled at the bottom, his expression contorted and he brought a gloved hand to his throat.

"W-when did you write this?" Kenny asked.

"I don't remember writing it," Kyle confessed. "But that's my handwriting. And the date's the same for Saturday."

Kenny glanced down at the page once more. His lips moved as he reread the words. When he came to the last line he glanced up at Kyle and quoted solemnly, "Goodbye, Kenny."

"It says – I mean – I wrote that you – that you saved Cartman…."

"And died doing it," Kenny added.

Kyle's breath caught in his throat. A part of him wanted to cry and another wanted to hit something. He couldn't remember. He couldn't remember writing those words. But the way in which the words were shaped, scraggly and wobbling, as if great emotion had rushed them out, concerned Kyle the most. That and the distinct tear stain blurring the written, inked words. The feelings pouring out of the writing made the words real to him. And he believed them.

Closing the book with a soft snap, Kenny handed the journal back to Kyle. The redhead shrunk away from it. Kenny frowned, pulling the notebook back and pressing it to his stomach.

The two boys did not speak. A car horn honked in the distance.

Suddenly stomping echoed through the equipment room. Kyle jerked his head around, looking at the exit. Kenny glanced over his shoulder taking in the tiny glass window perched high on the wall. He took a step towards it.

Cartman wearing his football jersey ambled round the jump rope rack. When he spotted Kyle, a nasty grin lit his face, but as his eyes moved towards Kenny's intense gaze, he froze. His smile slipped.

"Ay, Kenny," Cartman said acknowledging and dismissing his poor friend in one breath. He turned to Kyle. "So, Jew, ready to do some chores?"

Kyle didn't move. "Cartman, what do you remember about Saturday night?"

Taken aback by the question, Eric's smirk morphed into a contemplative frown.

"You tryin' to kill me."

"He didn't try to kill you fatass. It was self-defense. You were too drunk to notice."

Cartman froze. He pushed past Kyle, shoving the smaller boy into the jump rope rack. Drawing himself to his full height the overweight teen glared Kenny down. Despite his own height advantage on Eric, Kenny appeared diminutive compared to Cartman's large bulk. The fatass's thick finger poked Kenny hard in his thin chest.

"I wasn't drunk, you poor piece of shit."

Kenny smirked. "Yes, you were, douchebag."

"Nu uh, Kenny."

"Yeah huh."

"Dude, what's going on?"

Stan had materialized at Kyle's side. Both Cartman and Kenny stopped fighting. With all four of them now in the same room, a strange silence erupted between them. Kyle was suddenly struck by a thought. He searched his mind, but could not recall the last time all four of them had been together, hanging out. Other than the forced movie outing on Sunday, Kyle could not recall another moment in the past year that all four of them had really been alone together. The thought made him sad somehow. Kyle glanced at Stan who looked from one friend to the other.

Cartman spoke first. "We were just discussing Saturday night. Kenneth here believes I was drunk."

"You were drunk, fatass," Kyle growled. Kenny nodded in agreement.

"You saw him drinking?" Stan asked raising an eyebrow. He walked further into the room setting down his sports bag as he did so, the sewn on Cow no longer present on its front. "But Kyle said you ditched him."

Kenny frowned at this; he still held the green journal. The thin boy tossed the book at Stan; the black-haired teen caught it without missing a beat. He examined the small notebook and turned from Kyle to Kenny.

"This is your Psych journal, right?" Stan asked his best friend, opening it to the first page.

"Read page four, dude," Kyle commanded. The black-haired teen did as he was told. Several seconds ticked by as Stan skimmed the page. When he reached the end, he closed the notebook. The color had drained from his face.

"What am I suppose to be reading here, Kyle?" Stan asked keeping his eyes on his sneakers.

"My report on Mysterion…" Kyle answered.

"Is it a joke?" Stan's voice cracked. Kyle shook his head.

Turning to face Kenny, Stan took a step forward. Kenny's hood hid his eyes once again.

Cartman huffed where he stood. "Dammit, what's going on?"

He reached out and yanked the notebook out of Stan's hand before the other could protest. He too flipped it open to page four and read. His reaction was a bit more animated than Stan's. He closed the book and threw it to the ground. Next, he pulled out his own red journal from his large jacket pocket and fingered the pages with shaking hands.

Rubbing at his wide forehead, Cartman began to read out loud from his notebook. Kyle took a step forward as if to yank the journal from the fat boy's grasp. He expected Cartman to start spouting shit about him and Stan, but was shocked to hear that Eric was talking about Saturday night.

And about Kenny.

"'…So I'm at the hospital now'," Cartman read. "'That stupid Kahl's outside, sneakin' around. Poke his big Jew nose in here soon to cry over my noble form. Anyway, he's lucky he didn't kill me or I'd sue his ass. I might still. As for Kenny, he's a crazy shit. Knew playin' hero would go to his head. Mysterion was a gay super hero anyway. The Coon's much better. But now Kenny's dead, so tough shit for him then. Shame though, now I'm stuck dealin' with the faggy hippie and the Jew all by myself.'"

Cartman paused looking up at Kenny. "There are two entries in here about sorta the same thing. Both are in my mom's handwriting. I guess I made her write it out when I was in the hospital. The first paragraph is too boring and gay. She'd tried to clean up my language and it doesn't mention your death, but it's weird. It's like I know you dying's like buried underneath her boring writing, you know? She wrote it the first time, but there's like a different phrase over where it should be. Don't ask me how, but it's like when I compare both of them, I know, you know? But apparently I made her write it over, the next time putting it down exactly as I had said it. And that's the one that didn't change."

No one responded. Kenny had sat down hard upon the green gym mat, staring up at the heavyset teen. Cartman glared at each one of his friends, but continued, "I don't remember telling my mom this shit or even remember her writing it down. When I asked her about it, she didn't know anything either."

"I don't understand," Stan whispered.

Kenny shook his head and pushed himself to his feet again. "I don't either. Believe me I've tried. This seems unbelievable. I've lost count of the times I searched the obituaries for the report on my funerals. But they disappear every time."

"Then how did the journal entries stay?" Kyle asked.

Kenny picked up Kyle's green journal from the ground and then walked over to Cartman. He pulled the red journal from the overweight boy's hand and compared the two.

After a few minutes, Kenny handed each book back to its owner. He walked over to a vaulting horse and leaned against it. He began to laugh. He threw his head back, his orange hood falling away. And he laughed. He laughed until the rafters echoed.

Cartman crossed his arms, tapping his foot impatiently. Kyle felt his own anger bloom, but Stan remained politely confused.

"Goddammit you poor shit, what's so funny?" Cartman stomped over to Kenny and grabbed him by the front of the shirt.

"J-just a t-theory," Kenny managed to giggle out. "Which I should have tried ages ago."

"A theory?" Kyle repeated. He looked down at his tiny green notebook.

"Yeah." Kenny wiped at his eyes. "Every time my obituaries disappear. No formal account exists of my death, not even that time when I was gone for a year."

"You were gone for a year?" Stan asked his voice small. Kenny looked at him.

"Yeah. You didn't take that death too well."

"I didn't?" Stan looked pale. "I don't remember."

Kenny waved his hands dismissively. "It's cool. It was ages ago. We were kids."

"I still don't understand. Kenny, you really do die and come back? Over and over again?" Kyle urged. Kenny nodded.

"I thought I was crazy or my mom," Cartman murmured to himself.

Kenny cleared his throat. "No _formal accounts _of my deaths exist. And no one ever remembers. It's like it's wiped clean of ever happening. But I think…"

He chuckled again, shaking his head. Cartman growled at him to get on with it.

"I think that because you two wrote it down, because you wanted to remember, because you wrote it yourselves, because hell I don't know maybe the two of you wrote it simultaneously at the hospital. Who knows, but somehow it's here on these pages. And you guys know…."

Tears leaked from Kenny's eyes. "You know," he repeated. "You wanted to remember me."

"Kenny…." Kyle reached for his friend's hand. "We still can't remember."

"But you wanted to," Kenny repeated not really seeing his friends, his eyes glistening. A few tears trickled down the boy's narrow cheeks. "_You wanted to remember_."

Taking a few shuffled steps forward, Kenny grabbed a hold of Cartman's leather jacket. The thin boy clung to it making Cartman frown, but he didn't try to loosen the grip at all. Kenny pulled Kyle towards him as well, clinging to his hand. Stan watched the three awkwardly, but overcome with the strange sight of his three closest friends together, he too stepped forward. Not knowing how else to act, Stan wrapped an arm around Kenny and then Kyle. Kenny drew Cartman closer and the four hugged.

It was not a very good hug. Too many elbows and heads bumping together; Kenny was too bony and Cartman crushed whoever's hand he held. Kyle found himself unfortunately squeezed in the middle of his friends. But despite the discomfort, the four friends did not break apart for a long while. When they did finally step back, Kenny's eyes were dry and Cartman's sneer had returned. The color returned to Stan's face, and Kyle looked annoyed at everyone.

No one said much as the four left the equipment room. Cartman half-heartedly threatened he'd see Kyle later to force him to clean his windows, but for the most part the four friends exited the school in complete silence. Not even realizing the gesture, Stan held Kyle's hand not caring that now Kenny would know the secret. The four walked abreast out into the parking lot.

They reached Stan's pick-up first. Dropping his boyfriend's hand, Kyle turned and addressed Kenny and Cartman.

"We should do something this weekend or next. All four of us. It's been a long time since we've done shit together," Kyle said.

"We went to the movies altogether last Sunday," Cartman pointed out, apparently back to countering everything Kyle said or did. But the redhead ignored him.

Kenny laughed. "That doesn't really count, fatass."

"Why the hell not?" Cartman barked. Kenny only giggled behind his hood.

"Whatever," Stan said throwing an arm around Kyle's shoulder. "Let's just do something. Maybe we could go to Denver for the day?"

It was agreed. And although Cartman insisted that Kyle still pay his way, the four friends departed from one another's presence in high spirits. Just before Kenny left he shook his head at Cartman's retreating figure. The blond turned to Kyle. Stan clambered into the driver's seat.

"Weird that he'd write down what happened to me," Kenny mused. "Like he actually cared."

Kyle nodded. "Yeah. Cartman has been acting strange lately."

"Very much so," added Kenny his eyes still on Eric's retreating figure.

"I just don't get him sometimes."

"He's just good at keeping his vulnerabilities on the inside."

Kyle looked sideways at his friend. "What's that suppose to mean?"

"He won't admit it, but he likes us," Kenny offered. Kyle scoffed moving to the passenger side. Stan eyed the two curiously from behind the steering wheel.

"He hates me though," Kyle said.

"Not completely true," Kenny offered. "And you don't completely hate him. It's a mutual dislike or …umm…kind of a duty…a –"

"A job," Kyle offered. Kenny snapped his fingers.

"Yeah, it's like your guys' job to hate one another."

"Kenny, you're a retard."

"But you remember me."

Kyle placed one foot inside the truck, lifting himself up. Kenny beamed up at him, holding the door open.

"We could never forget Kenny McCormick. You're a retard for thinking that we would."

"You two spent a lot of time off on your own without Eric or me. Almost a whole year. That's why I was pleased when you wanted to tag along with me as Mysterion."

Kyle scratched at his bandaged nose, feeling guilt settle into his stomach. Stan, however, leaned over him and wrapped an arm around the redhead's waist.

"Don't be jealous, Ken. You just wish you had a boyfriend as cute as mine," Stan boasted his voice unusually high and awkward. He pecked Kyle sloppily on the cheek and then without any hesitation, kissed the redhead full on the lips.

Outside the truck Kenny rolled his eyes. "I like titties."

And with that said, he slammed the truck door close. He walked home, laughing the whole way.

* * *

><p>That was chapter four. A lot sort of happens at once in these last two chapters. Just one more to go. Hope you've enjoyed.<p>

Thanks for reading!

_**Please review! Comments and constructive criticisms welcomed!**_


	5. Makes Us Something

Well here's the last chapter. Thank you to everyone who read and reviewed. I really appreciate all the kind feedback.

**Summary:** For a high school project Kyle decides to follow his friend Kenny around as he plays Mysterion. But a serious accident forces Kyle to suffer at Cartman's whim. Meanwhile Stan wants to keep secrets. Can the boys find a way to reconcile the catastrophe and bring things back to normal?

Bad summary I know, but I'm not very good at them.

**Rating:** T because of language cause duh it's South Park

**Pairings:** Stan x Kyle

**Disclaimer:** I do not own South Park or it's characters. This is just for fun and for writing practice.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Five – Makes Us Something<strong>

Kyle sat on the top most step of the Marsh's staircase. Below him in the living room sat his parents with Stan's mother and father. Stan was in the bathroom down the hall, puking up his dinner for what seemed to be the fifth time that evening. Shame, Kyle thought to himself, Mrs. Marsh's fried chicken had been pretty good that night. The redhead propped his chin in his hands and rested his elbows on his knees. A few seconds later Stan emerged from the bathroom and flopped down beside his boyfriend. The two gave the other a sideways glance. Stan wiped the back of his hand over his mouth. Kyle raised an eyebrow.

"Well, ready to do this?" Stan whispered.

Kyle's hand found Stan's. The redhead squeezed it tight. He stood up, pulling the other boy with him. They eyed the staircase before them, listening to the small talk of their parents drift from the living room. Mrs. Broflovski's nasally voice boomed above the rest. Stan shifted in place when he heard his father's laughter mix in with the conversation.

"Are sure you're ready?" Kyle asked, giving Stan's hand one more squeeze.

The taller boy nodded. He still looked pale.

"I sure hope I don't puke on anyone."

Kyle let out a nervous laugh. "Don't worry, dude. That'll just emphasize how much you love me."

Stan nudged his boyfriend playfully in the shoulder a little color returning to his cheeks.

"Come on, let's get this over with."

* * *

><p>The car ride to Denver that weekend proved uneventful, well as uneventful compared to the past week's dizzying array of misadventures. Stan sat in the driver's seat of his old truck; Kyle beside him. Kenny insisted on squeezing between them, however, in the middle makeshift seat without the seatbelt. He courageously proclaimed that he'd be able to survive any crash even if he went flying through the windshield. Cartman followed behind the truck in his fancy sports car. Not much had changed in that perspective; Eric was still a selfish douche.<p>

"He's annoyed too," Kenny repeated for the third time, looking back over his shoulder at the shiny red car. Cartman could just be made out behind the tinted window.

"About what?" asked Stan, turning off the highway's exit and onto the next ramp.

Kyle shifted in his seat. "Oh, things he'd rather not make public."

Stan glanced at Kyle out of the corner of his eye. Kenny snickered.

"What do you mean?" the black-haired boy asked. He lifted his gaze to the rearview mirror, studying the red car behind him.

Kyle shook his head thinking back to a few nights ago. Kenny had agreed once more to be a part of Kyle's Psych project, and the two had spent a good majority of the evening at Kenny's after school job. The blond worked at the local garage fixing simple repairs on the cars brought in.

The garage was small and unkempt. One long florescent light shone in the very middle of the room. The floor and ceiling appeared to at one time been a rosier color, but now its shade had turned to a hue of rust. Several posters of hot rods, fancy convertibles, and expensive looking motorcycles littered the wall. In the middle of the garage stood two cars, one with its hood propped open and the other with Kenny leaning out its passenger side. The blond stood over a black Crown Vic, trying to get the window to roll back up. Kyle sat in a chair opposite his friend, writing in his green notebook and commenting every now and then on what Kenny did on a daily basis. As the night wore on, the two talked less about the project and more about the past week's peculiar happenings.

"I can't really wrap my head around it," Kyle had said. "So you really can't die? You're immortal?"

Kenny laughed pressing the window button again, it rolled up. Wiping his hands Kenny sauntered over to an empty chair beside the redhead.

"Immortal doesn't really fit me, I think," the blond began. He rubbed at his chin thoughtfully.

"But you can't die," Kyle pressed.

"Well that's the funny thing. I can die. I just sort of come back. The next morning. In my old clothes. It's like nothing's happened," Kenny explained. Kyle scratched a few notes into his green journal.

"You going to tell that to the class?" Kenny asked. Kyle shook his head.

"Sorry, Ken, but I don't think anyone would believe me," Kyle said with a small note of sadness. "This is just for my own use. I'd hate to wake up tomorrow morning and not remember anything you told me today."

Kenny sniffed, turning his head a way from Kyle.

"Dude, are you fucking crying?" the redhead scoffed.

Kenny whipped his head back, scowling. "Hell, no. I'm not the fag here."

The blond chuckled at the annoyed look that crossed Kyle's face.

"I suppose Stan and I should be prepared for a lot more of that, huh?"

"Would you have it any other way?" Kenny giggled.

"No."

Just then Cartman's red sports car rolled up in front of the garage. It parked and its lights shut off. The heavyset teen pushed himself out of the car. Eric ambled over to his two friends. He eyed Kenny's tattered garage jumpsuit and Kyle's ugly green sweater. He smirked.

"You girls chatting it up?"

"What do you want, fatass?" Kyle said turning his attention on his journal.

Cartman turned to Kenny. "Where's your boss?"

The blond pointed to an office door at the opposite side of the garage. "He might be busy, though. What's wrong? Do you want me to take a look at your car?" Kenny got to his feet.

"You ain't touchin' my car, you poor piece of crap. I like the stereo I got."

Kenny rolled his eyes. "Eric, I wouldn't steal your shit."

"Sure you wouldn't."

Cartman edged his way around the parked cars. Before he reached the office door he called over his shoulder.

"Ay, Jew, you better wrap up whatev' you're doing. Cause I got chores for you that need doin'."

Kyle growled. He had hoped Cartman would have had a change of heart about the whole slave thing, but no such luck. Why he'd believed that Eric would actually be a decent human being, Kyle didn't know. The redhead had noticed, however, that Cartman's enthusiasm with his blackmail had subsided. He appeared bored most of the time as he sat and watched Kyle iron his pants and dust his desk.

Kenny watched Cartman enter his boss's office. He turned back to his friend.

"Want to hear something interesting I learned from Yates the other night?"

Kyle looked up and blinked. It took him a minute to register what Kenny was telling him.

"Uh, sure."

"Remember the tagging, the vandalism? You know the covered bridge we looked at? Well, the kids who did it were caught," Kenny informed.

"Well, that's good."

"Yeah, I got to see them brought in on another vandalism charge. They were breaking mailboxes. But they were out of town guys. Never seen them before. There was about three or four of 'em with shaved heads. They were like our age, dude. Kind of freaked me out to see all those_ tattoos_ on their arms."

Kenny didn't outright say who exactly the gang of vandals served or what they represented, but Kyle got the hints.

"Good thing all they did was tag a bridge," Kyle found himself saying.

"Yeah. But that's not the weird thing I learned," Kenny continued.

Kyle felt the hairs stand on the back of his neck. "They didn't hurt anyone? Did they?" Suddenly comprehension dawned. The redhead glared at the closed office door.

"He had paint on his hands that night." Kyle rose to his feet not knowing what he was about to do next. "He would…."

Kenny waved his hands in front of Kyle's face. "Whoa, dude, hold on." The blond pulled his shorter friend back into his chair. "Cartman didn't hang out with them. I don't think he was even aware of them. Just their…_artwork_. I mean, it is possible he saw them tagging in the first place."

Kyle narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean?"

"Dude, Cartman painted over their shit. With his own spray paint," Kenny said.

Kyle blinked. "What?"

"Cartman, as in the fatass Eric Cartman, saw what they'd written and tagged over it. The paint on his hands matched the paint on the bridge. His paint had come later and tagged over the other marks. Here look." Kenny took Kyle's green journal and pencil. The blond tore out a page and drew a shape on it. Kyle frowned at the familiar, yet unwelcome design.

"Dude, don't use my paper to draw swastikas."

"No, look," Kenny pushed. He took the pencil and drew over the shape. He connected the ends of the symbol closing them. When he'd finished, the swastika had turned into a box divided in four. Kyle stared.

"That was on the bridge," Kyle whispered. He looked up at his friend. "Cartman drew over that?"

Kenny nodded snickering slightly. "Told you Cartman likes us, even you. He cares about his friends; he just doesn't want anyone to know it."

Kyle mused over Kenny's revelation. Accepting the idea that Cartman might deep down - way, way, way deep down - truly care about his friends, even Kyle, fit a lot of the fat teen's uncharacteristic actions into perspective. It at least explained why Eric had stopped Kyle from breaking his face against his laundry room floor. Or why Cartman might really feel upset at the idea that Kyle would have let him drown.

Just then Cartman squeezed his way out of the office. He wandered over to his friends and flopped down in a vacant chair. He smirked at Kenny.

"Your boss is going to take a look at it."

"I see," Kenny moved to a worktable and began picking up tools. "So, what's wrong with it?"

Cartman rubbed his chin. "Heater's acting up."

"Not too bad, could be worse," Kenny offered. Kyle still scribbled in his notebook. Cartman's attention moved to the shorter boy.

"Ay, Kahl, we're leaving now," Cartman said turning to the redhead. "We're going to have to hoof it, but if you're good I won't make you carry me piggyback all the way home."

Pushing himself out of his chair, Kyle followed Cartman out of the garage. Kenny gave him a wave, his thin face splitting into a sneaky grin. Kyle just continued to look perplexed.

Twenty minutes from the garage and the neighborhood swam into view. The two teens slid across a slick spot on the sidewalk and moved up onto the snowy lawns. Trekking through the fresh layers of snow, Kyle and Cartman passed Butters' house and then Clyde's. Finally reaching the road where Eric's house resided, Kyle turned to the larger boy. Looking up at the brunet, Kyle scrutinized the other boy's face.

Cartman noticed. "What's your problem, Jew?"

Kyle ducked his head. "Nothing."

Cartman's house came into view behind a large cluster of trees. The lights weren't on inside, but as the two walked up the drive, the porch light flickered on. Standing on the front step, Eric dug into his jacket and extracted his keys. Once again Kyle studied Cartman's movements. The other boy seemed to not notice until they entered the house. As Kyle shrugged off his jacket, Cartman eyed him warily.

"Why are you staring at me, stupid Jew?"

Kyle opened his mouth to snap a retort but thought better of it. Cartman frowned as Kyle put on a tired expression and crossed his arms.

"Well, aren't you going to throw a tantrum, Kahl?" Cartman pushed.

"Dude, just give me a list of chores so I can get them over with."

Eric's frown intensified.

"Don't you want to argue about it?"

Kyle blinked. "No, I just want to get this over with. I want to meet up with Stan later, so just tell me what to do, fatass, so I can get it over with."

Cartman didn't reply. He moved to the stairs and began ascending them without a word. Confused by the other teen's silence, Kyle climbed slowly up after him. As they walked down the hall, Eric glanced over his shoulder at the redhead.

"You know, Jew, this was a lot more fun when you fought me," Cartman said offhand. Kyle stopped, watching Cartman swing his bedroom door open.

"What?"

Cartman turned around, now in the middle of his room. Kyle stood at the threshold.

Sighing and shrugging his shoulders Cartman said, "Come on can't you like say 'no.' Call me something better than fatass. I know you can do better than that."

Kyle crossed his arms. "Dude, I really don't care. I just want to get this shit over with. Stan's waiting for me."

"Shut up about Stan," Cartman shot. "You're on my time now, Jew, and you will fight back! That's what's fun about this. About us!"

Eric waved his hand back and forth between him and Kyle. The redhead raised an eyebrow.

"What the hell are you talking about, Cartman?"

"Come on, Kahl," Cartman continued. "You shoved me into Stark's Pond for Christ sake! Grow a fucking pair and fight back!"

Kyle blinked, dropping his arms at his sides. Cartman looked angry; his fists were raised in front of him as if he'd love nothing better than to strike the redhead.

"Look I'm going to make you clean my toilet. Now, you're going to throw your little Jew Rage fit and tell me to fuck off," Cartman explained coming closer to Kyle. "Then I'm going to hold my blackmail information over your head. That's when you call me something smart and clever which confuses me, but then I just grin and pretend I know what the fuck you're talking about."

Kyle stared blankly at Cartman. The boy was serious. His face was set in a determined and angry frown. Kyle removed his hat and ran a hand through his hair.

"Dude…."

Cartman moved back to his bed and sat down, his arms now folded across his wide chest.

"You're no fun anymore, Kahl. Ever since Stan's been fucking you."

Kyle snapped to attention. "Shut up, fatass."

Eric grinned realizing he'd hit a nerve.

"Aww, poor lil Kahl, is Stanny too rough? Does he make it hard for you to sit down? A bet you fucking scream his name like a bitch, right?"

Kyle snapped. He rushed across the room and grabbed Cartman by his wide collar. Reeling his arm back, Kyle threw his whole weight into his punch. He hit Cartman so hard the fat teen fell back onto his bed, his nose spurting blood. Kyle climbed on top of him and began pummeling any bit of skin he could see.

But Cartman only laughed and took hold of Kyle's wrist, forcing the smaller boy up off of him. He held at Kyle arm's length and smirked.

"That's more like it, Jew boy."

Kyle spat in Cartman's face.

"I hate you."

Eric's grin widened. "I hate you too."

With one swift movement, Cartman shoved Kyle to the ground and stood up. He walked over to his desk, his smile widening.

"I've got a wonderful idea, Kahl! Instead of cleaning my toilet, I'm going to be a little bit easier on you."

The redhead got to his feet; he stalked over to Cartman's side and grabbed a hold of the taller boy's jacket, spinning him around. Kyle raised his fist again, but Eric was ready. He grabbed the boy's arm and pinning it behind Kyle's back, made the other yelp in pain. Cartman twisted harder.

"Now, now, calm down," Cartman simpered, wiping his nose on the back of his sleeve. Kyle growled in his face. Eric laughed. "You'll like what I want you to do."

"What?" Kyle hissed.

"Here sit down." Cartman forced him into his desk chair. Kyle fumed, glaring at the sheet of paper and pencil laid out before him.

"What is this, fatass?" Kyle said indicating the utensils.

"I want you to write me a haiku, dear Kahl. I'm going to give you a topic and you'll write me a nice little haiku, and then recite it to me."

Puzzlement washed over the redhead, replacing the anger he'd built up. This request was by far the most bizarre Cartman had asked. Why did he want Kyle to write him poetry?

"Now," Cartman laid back on his bed, his head resting against the headboard, "Kahl, I want you to write a poem about…hmm…let's see. Kenny!"

Still confused, but not sure how he could argue against the demand (it sure beat scrubbing a toilet), Kyle began to write a haiku about his poor friend. When he had finished he spun the desk chair around to look at Cartman. The fat teen's eyes were half-closed, but he acknowledged Kyle.

"Done already? Let's hear it, Jew."

Kyle opened his mouth to recite his poem, but Cartman hushed him and then demanded he stand up as he spoke. Frowning, Kyle got to his feet. He read:

_Dismal fortune Ken  
>Mysterion but much more<br>Always a true friend_

Cartman laughed. He leaned up in bed.

"That was gay. But maybe that's all you can write now, since Stan's riding you like a horse every night."

"CARTMAN!"

Eric grinned at the outburst. "Turn around and write, Kahl. I want you to write a poem about Stanley. Make it pretty."

Kyle slapped the paper down on the desk and began to write. He'd show Cartman. Kyle would just take advantage of the situation and write whatever he felt. Try to find a way to piss the fatass off.

"But let's make it challenging," Cartman added. "Don't mention any names this time around."

Kyle scribbled furiously across the page. He threw down his pencil and leapt out of his seat with relish. Cartman eyed him with a smirk.

"Done, slave? Good. Read it."

Kyle cleared his throat:

_A South Park hero  
>And the greatest SBF<br>Happy, you fatass?_

Cartman scowled at the last line.

"Didn't like it. Not faggy enough even for you," Cartman said folding his arms. Kyle rolled his eyes. Scratching his chin, Eric continued, "Write another one about Stan. But make it gayer."

He pulled out a small tape recorder from his bedside table and flicked it on. "I want something good I can share with the class."

Kyle glared at the tiny electronic device and watched the tape inside revolve. Still seething, but determined to write something Cartman would hate, Kyle turned back to the desk and pulled another sheet of paper towards him. Only a few seconds later and Kyle was back to the middle of the room ready to recite his newest haiku. He almost smiled as he spoke, his eyes on the tape recorder.

_A fact: I love him  
>Another: You I despise<br>Suck it, Ben Zonah _

Cartman's mouth was set in a thin line. He narrowed his eyes at Kyle, who folded his arms in a challenging manner.

"What did that mean?" Cartman asked cordially.

"That you're a son of a whore," Kyle proclaimed. Eric nodded, but his face looked slightly flushed. He didn't like remarks about his mother.

"That's a bit better, Kahl," Cartman confessed.

"Keep it coming," Kyle smirked. "In fact a new one's on the tip of my tongue already."

_Immature bastard  
>Tagging bridges with hatred<br>Ken's information_

Eric shot up out of bed. He moved to Kyle's side in an instant. The redhead skipped backwards, pressing himself up against the bedroom's cold window.

"What was that?" Cartman tried to keep his voice level.

"Kenny told me about what you did last Saturday," Kyle explained cryptically. Cartman eyed him, annoyed. He'd stopped the recorder and chucked it on the bed. Kyle took the opportunity to leap for it. He moved too fast for Eric to catch him. Flicking on the machine once again, Kyle spoke into it, grinning like an idiot.

"Eric T. Cartman tagged over the anti-Semitic gang signs on the town's only covered bridge with his own bottle of spray paint. He went to Stark's Pond and painted over a swastika, rather than make one himself. Kenny knows the whole truth. Cartman –"

But before Kyle could say anymore Cartman had picked up a random book from his desk and hurled it at Kyle. The redhead ducked and jumped over the bed. Cartman threw another book and then his stapler. He let out a roar as he heaved a pencil case and his red notebook at Kyle. The shorter boy dodged the objects and ducked out of the room.

With the recorder still in his hand, he pelted through the hallway and nearly flew down the staircase. Cartman thundered after him like a deranged bull. Kyle's heart leapt into his throat. He didn't want to think about what the fatass would do to him if he managed to catch him.

Jumping the rest of the stairs, Kyle grabbed his jacket and bag. He stuffed his feet into his boots without lacing them up and jerked open the front door. It swung on its hinges and thumped into the wall. Rushing down the drive, Kyle ran with the tape recorder clutched in his fist held high over his head. He'd run to Stan's house. It was closest. They'd have something on Cartman and then they'd be the ones with a secret over the fatass.

Unfortunately Kyle never made it off of Cartman's property. Just as the redhead came to the sidewalk out front, he stepped out onto a patch of black ice. Not prepared for the absence of friction, Kyle's feet flew out in front of him and the boy landed flat on his back the wind completely knocked out of him. He bumped his head against the cement and stars erupted before his eyes. He swore trying to move. Both of his hands were empty now. A crunch of snow echoed near to his head.

"You're a sneaky little Jew, aren't you Kahl?" whispered Cartman kneeling next to the winded boy. Kyle coughed struggling to roll onto his side away from the other.

The streetlamp blared a harsh circle of light around the two teens. He felt Eric's eyes on his back, but tried desperately to search in the snow for the tape recorder. Kyle's hands dug into cold mushy ice, but before he could even move a few inches, Cartman grabbed a hold of his shoulder and turned him back over. Kyle stared up at Eric. The larger boy still looked pissed, but he now held the recorder in his hand. Without a word he opened the machine and pulled out the tape. He stuck his fingers up into flimsy strings and unwound it. The shiny ribbon fluttered in the cold breeze. Snow had begun to fall and flakes collected on Cartman's shoulders and hair. Without a word Cartman placed the recorder back into his pocket and stood up. He looked down at Kyle, his face blank.

"You know, Kahl, I could just leave you out here to freeze. I bet that knock to the skull hurt pretty bad." Eric nudged him with his boot. Kyle whimpered his vision swimming. Cartman knelt down again, his head very close to Kyle's.

"I could haul your scrawny ass to the backyard. No one would see you there, and I'd let you lay out there 'til the sun rose. How would you like that?"

Kyle scrunched up his eyes, his glasses had fallen off somewhere, and he couldn't see Cartman's face clearly. His head hurt; he couldn't comprehend which was up or which was down. He tried to speak, but all he could manage was a low mumble before he took a gasp of breath when he moved his head too fast.

"Quit your bitching, Kahl," Eric hissed. "You're not even bleeding."

"Cartman," Kyle moaned.

"Hmm…." The larger boy shuffled away on his knees and then returned pressing something cold to Kyle's eyes. It took the redhead a minute to realize they were his glasses.

"There you go," Cartman said in a small voice. For a minute the other boy's fingers lingered on the bandage taped across Kyle's nose. Although his eyes were closed, Kyle could feel Cartman's index finger travel down his cheek and then his neck. There was a light tug at his green turtleneck as the collar was pulled down. Silence, then.

Cartman let out a small laugh. "Knew it."

Kyle lost consciousness after that.

When he woke again he was laying on the Cartman's living room couch. It was dark, the only light coming from the kitchen. Kyle lifted his head and the room swam. He lay back down and groaned into the couch's pillows. Heavy footsteps sounded from the other room and Kyle stiffened. He wanted to hide. He wanted to race to the door and throw himself outside into the cold. But his head's ache only caused him to curl into a ball hissing and cursing with the dizziness.

"Oh, you're awake, now?"

Kyle's eyes snapped open. Cartman stood over him. The larger teen wore a pair of silk pajamas under a very expensive looking bathrobe with the letters _E_ and _C_ sewn in gold over the left pocket. He held a large plate of cookies and a glass of milk. He set these on the table and sat down in an armchair situated at the head of the couch. Kyle squinted up at his enemy. Once again he had found himself in danger under Cartman's watch, and rather than allow the smaller boy to freeze out in his backyard or bash his face against a tiled floor, Eric had enough of a shred of humanity to see that Kyle was okay.

For a minute the redhead wanted to vomit at the thought.

"You don't have anything seriously wrong with you, Kahl. But you better get your senses back soon. I'm not letting you sleep on my couch all night long," Cartman continued without missing a beat.

Scrunching up his eyes, Kyle tried to make out the clock on the mantelpiece.

"What time is it?" he managed to whisper. Cartman chomped on a rather large cookie and then gulped down most of his milk.

"Just past midnight. You were out for awhile."

Kyle tried to sit up, but found the room swam before his eyes and his insides jerked his stomach's contents upwards. He leaned over the couch as if preparing to throw up. Cartman jumped to his feet.

"Don't you fucking dare, Kahl." But too late the boy had already hurled onto the carpet. Cartman swore loudly, stomping off into the kitchen. He returned with a bottle of cleaner, paper towels, and a rag. He tossed the roll of towels and the cleaner bottle on top of Kyle, but rather than shouting for the smaller boy to get up and clean, Eric knelt on the floor and began scrubbing the carpet himself. Kyle blinked watching the boy. He must have hit his head harder than he thought.

"Stupid Jew," Cartman mumbled under his breath.

Kyle rolled onto his side, facing the other boy.

"I'm sorry," Kyle whispered.

"You better be, cause if this doesn't come up I'm making you buy my mom all new carpet, Kahl."

"No," continued the smaller boy. "I meant I'm sorry for everything."

Cartman stopped working and sat up on his knees. He eyed the redhead carefully.

"You know, Kahl, I hate you. I hate you a lot."

Kyle nodded. "I deserve that."

Cartman went back to cleaning up. Without looking at Kyle he reached up and snatched the paper towels. Kyle watched him in silence.

"Why did you paint over those signs, Cartman?"

"Because I'm the only one allowed to fuck with you," Cartman stated as if it were obvious. He scrubbed harder at the carpet. "I don't need no fuckin' white trash skinheads taggin' their shit everywhere and messin' with _my Jew_. They can get their own."

Kyle's eyes widened at the statement. He didn't know whether he should feel insulted or flattered by Cartman's words. Kyle continued to rest his head on the overstuffed pillow gazing confusedly up at Eric.

"You know, Kenny wasn't the only one pissed off that you and Stan were off by yourselves," the overweight teen began.

"Cartman, I –"

The other boy glared at him. "I swear to God, Kahl, if you fucking tell anyone what I'm saying I will tie a cinderblock around that scrawny, hicky-covered neck of yours and toss you into Stark's Pond myself."

Kyle took the hint and nodded without a word.

"Now, I hate you, but that doesn't mean I don't want you hanging around. Life's a lot more entertaining with your big Jew nose poking into my business."

"Hey," Kyle protested feebly. Cartman ignored him.

"Look, I didn't like being ignored by you and the hippie. I didn't like seeing you two off with Clyde and those guys without me and Kenny. I didn't like it, okay. I said to myself, what the fuck were you guys thinking ditchin' me and Ken? Then I saw you in the gym that one night and I told myself you'd better get over it soon and get back to being the sneaky rat Jew that you were, but no, you and Stan were always off by yourselves. Doing fucking knows what. You didn't pay any attention to me. What was I suppose to do?"

Kyle didn't respond. Cartman stood up from his work and glared down at his injured friend.

"Sometimes you piss me off so much, Kahl, that I want to kill you."

Lying gingerly on his back, the smaller boy nodded up to Cartman.

"Understandable," Kyle agreed; his mouth set in a frown. "I felt the same way on numerous occasions."

Cartman smirked. "But it appears you're the only one heartless enough to act on it."

Kyle wanted to point out the absurdity of that statement and list the times Cartman had attempted to maim and or mutilate the shorter boy, but found he no longer had the energy to argue.

"You're right, Cartman. I'm sorry."

Eric scowled. "Ah, don't fuckin' say that. You sound like a girl."

He left the living room and retreated to the kitchen with the cleaning supplies. Kyle waited patiently on the couch for him to return. He shifted his gaze around the room and found himself relieved that his nausea had lifted. His stomach now rumbling, Kyle tried to reach out and grab one of Cartman's cookies. He couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten. But before he could even touch the plate, Cartman swatted his hand away and picked up the plate and his glass.

"Such a sneaky Jew, Kahl," Cartman hummed.

Kyle growled. "I'm fucking hungry, fatass. And you don't need all those cookies!"

"Oh, I'm sorry, Kahl, but I don't seem to have any _Jew cookies_."

"Fuck you, fatass," Kyle growled.

Cartman chuckled stuffing another cookie into his wide mouth.

* * *

><p>Stan turned off the exit ramp and coasted the car into the left lane at the stop light. He shook his head slightly.<p>

"So, what is it? Cartman cares about you or something like that?" Stan asked. Kyle hadn't really revealed the whole story about that night, but corroborated mostly with what Kenny had known.

"I think it's more or less that he tolerates my presence," Kyle mused. "And apparently he's fond of it enough to do something nice for me every once in awhile."

"Cartman being nice to you is the most bizarre thing I've ever heard," Stan confessed. He jerked his thumb at Kenny, "And that's even after all the crazy shit he's told us about dying."

Kenny chuckled into his hood.

Kyle sat back in his seat watching the horizon line whisk past as Stan pressed down on the accelerator, pulling out into the Denver traffic. Although his body appeared exhausted, Kyle's mind raced with all the new information he'd discovered over the last week. Kenny couldn't die, but it wasn't what he cared about. The poor teen just wanted to be remembered. As for Cartman he appeared to have some semblance of a heart. At least some shred of humanity large enough to actually want Kyle around.

Rubbing his eyes Kyle thought back to Saturday night. He still hated himself for what he'd almost done. Cartman hadn't mentioned the incident anymore. He'd stopped blackmailing Kyle; Eric no longer wanted his slave. _Said he didn't want to play anymore_. Despite that relief of not having to do Cartman's bidding for the rest of his high school career, Kyle couldn't help but wonder at what Cartman really thought of him. He knew Cartman hadn't totally forgiven him for the Stark's Pond incident, but the redhead guessed that Eric feared what Kyle might do with his new found information about the covered bridge. In a way it was karma, Cartman was the one that needed a secret kept.

Pulling into the mall parking lot, Stan maneuvered around a large van and found a spot fairly close to the entrance. Cartman parked his shiny red car in a spot a few rows down.

Jumping down from his seat, Kyle watched Cartman shuffle over towards them. The fat teen smirked.

"Ah, my car is awesome, you guys, seriously," the fat boy bragged, shoving Kenny out of his way as he headed towards the mall. "Way better than Stanley's piece of shit."

Stan rolled his eyes. "Whatever, dude."

Taking Kyle's hand in his own, the black-haired boy led the way towards the mall's entrance. Kenny followed behind them with Cartman off to the side. Once inside the four headed towards the arcade. They spent a good amount of time blasting zombies' heads off and mock racing through a pixilated Los Angeles. Kenny tried to play a little DDR, but wound up tripping over his ratty shoe laces and toppling head over heels off the tiny stage. Cartman had howled with laughter, watching his skinny friend struggle to remove his tattered laces from around the machines handlebar. Meanwhile Stan and Kyle had found the Guitar Hero and spent almost half their quarters trying to make the high score. Kenny and Cartman came over to watch and cheer them on. Kyle found himself smiling at the mental memory of the scene burning itself into the back of his mind. It had been a long time since the four of them were together like this, wasn't it? Kenny near injury, Cartman his usual bastard self and Stan right beside him. All of them actually happy.

Next the four poked around some of the gaming stores. Cartman complained loudly to anyone who would listen (which ended up being only Kenny) that the 3DS didn't come in gold.

"Don't you already have one, fatass?" Kyle couldn't help but snap. Eric turned to him, a look of pure exasperation.

"But, Kahl, I think gold would be better. Plus I want two 3DSs."

"Why the fuck do you need two?" Kyle scoffed, flipping through a strategy guide.

"Cause then I can trade Chinpokomon back and forth on my Plaid and Polka Dot versions."

Kenny withdrew his orange hood. "You know I managed to get a used DS and Chinpokomon Plaid. We could trade if you wanted?"

Eric looked disgusted. "I don't need your shitty Chinpokomon, Kenny. They probably all have rabies or something."

Kenny rolled his eyes and ambled over to the first person shooter games.

They purchased food later on. Kyle and Kenny waited in line while Stan and Cartman found a table. When their food arrived, Kenny picked up one of the trays. With a deft movement of his tongue, he popped out a small plastic retainer colored orange. He placed it on his tray and picked out a couple of Eric's fries to eat. Kyle pointed at the small retainer confused unable to form the right question.

Kenny noticed and laughed. "Told you I had one, dude. Though this one's new. Never did find the other one in that dumpster."

By the time they settled down, Cartman carried about four or five bags of merchandise. Stan was the only one to rival Eric in purchases. When they had passed the book store, the black-haired boy had ducked inside and returned with a large batch of textbook size volumes. Sitting down around the plastic cafeteria table, Kyle shifted to pick one of Stan's books out. He held it up and glanced the title.

"Veterinarian Science?" Kyle read. He turned back to Stan's shopping bag, moving the other books around. They were all books on the care and maintenance of animals; dogs, cats, guinea pigs, even horses. Most of the books were thick encyclopedia-like texts of how-to's, but Kyle smiled to himself when he noticed a children's book titled Day in the Life of a Vet.

"Dude, what are all these?" Kyle asked laughing. Kenny poked his nose in the bag too, curious. Stan snatched it away.

"Nothing. I just have a paper to write on the subject."

"For what class?" Kenny asked.

Kyle raised an eyebrow, "Dude, if you needed books for research why didn't you just go to the library."

"Cause he wants to be a pussy PETA member," Cartman commented, stuffing a few French fires into his mouth.

"I don't want to join PETA, fatass," Stan snapped. Cartman chuckled.

"Then what's with all the books?" Kyle pressed. Stan ran a hand through his hair, blushing.

"I just wanted to read them," Stan explained unhelpfully. Kyle frowned. Stan continued, sounding defeated, "I want to try and be a vet or something with animals; so I'm reading up on it."

Kyle was confused. He knew Stan loved animals, but the redhead still wondered.

"What about football?"

Cartman laughed into his cheeseburger. Stan glared at him.

"I'm no longer on the team, dude."

Kyle shot out of his chair and stormed around the table until he stood next to Eric. Grabbing the fat teen by the collar, the redhead turned him until the two were face to face.

"What the fuck? I did everything you asked and you went and got him kicked off the fucking team?"

Kyle brought back his fist readying to strike. Stan jumped from his own seat and grabbed Kyle's arm holding it in place. He wrapped his other hand around the redhead's waist and pulled him away from Cartman.

"Dude, stop!" Stan shouted. "He didn't tell Coach anything. I did."

Kyle dropped his hand. He let go of Cartman and turned to face Stan.

"W-what? But you love…. You said you wanted to play. You wanted to go pro," Kyle whispered. Stan shrugged.

"It doesn't matter. I can do something else with my life. It wasn't that big of a deal." But Stan didn't meet his boyfriend's eye when he spoke.

Kyle frowned at this. "So, you just told him you were a fag, and he kicked you off the team?"

Stan half smiled. "Pretty much. He didn't seem to believe me, but I showed him the picture Cartman took of us. I told him I was dating you and if he didn't like it I was leaving the team for good," Stan explained.

"He didn't say much after that, but he did rip the Cow mascot off my duffle bag," Stan added with a sigh. "At least I got to keep the bag."

"See, Jew, told you I'd keep my word. Stanny manned up all by himself," Cartman added. "Well, fagged up more like it."

Stan rolled his eyes and returned to his seat next to Kenny. Kyle looked from Stan to Eric, not sure he could believe that the fatass wasn't the one responsible for ending Stan's short football career. But after a few awkward seconds ticked by, Stan reached out and pulled Kyle down into his lap. Kenny giggled into his hood, while Cartman gazed at them in disgust.

"Ay, don't start being gay while I'm eatin'," the fat teen growled pointing a warning finger at his friends. Stan flipped him off, while Kyle found himself blushing.

"Dude, let me go," Kyle murmured, trying to squirm free. Stan clung to him tighter.

"Aww, can't I hold my _boyfriend_?" Stan teased, but still turning a little bit pale. Kyle laughed hitting Stan in the head with his fist. Kenny laughed harder. Cartman pushed his cheeseburger away from him.

"That's it, I've lost my appetite."

Kyle mocked surprise. "Really? That's a first."

"Yeah," Stan agreed.

"If you aren't going to eat that can I have it?" asked Kenny, slowly pulling the sandwich towards him. Cartman smacked the poor boy's hand away.

"Ay, get off! I'm not finished with that."

Eric proceeded to stuff a good portion of the cheeseburger in his mouth, glaring at his three friends. Stan, Kyle, and Kenny burst out laughing. Cartman finished chewing and swallowed his food.

"I hate you guys. I hate you so much."

Kyle smiled. "We hate you too, Cartman."

* * *

><p>Stan and Kyle stood in the middle of the Marsh's living room. Both their mothers sat on the long couch, sipping coffee from novelty mugs that Randy had won at last year's town carnival. Kyle's father rested in the only armchair every now and then leaning over towards the coffee table to pick up a new magazine the Marshes had resting there. He'd flip through one, grow bored and then reach out for another one. Randy leaned heavily on the couch's armrest by Sharon. He sipped at his beer.<p>

"Um, guys," Stan cleared his throat. The adults ceased in their movements and stared at their sons. Kyle felt his face grow red. He secretly wished Ike had come over too. Part of Kyle felt that seeing his little brother amongst the adults would somehow break the tension.

When Stan didn't continue speaking, Kyle did for him. "We want to tell you guys something really, really important."

"What is it, bubbe?" Sheila sat up, eyeing her son carefully. "You haven't gotten yourself in trouble again? Have you?" She narrowed her eyes scrutinizing her son. For a minute it looked like she was trying to x-ray his secrets out of him.

"W-what? N-no, ma. I'm not in trouble." Kyle rushed out. Stan nodded, his lips pressed shut.

Sheila brightened. "Well, okay then."

"Look," Kyle began, taking a step towards his mother and then glancing at his father as well.

"We're dating," Stan blurted out behind him. He slapped a hand over his mouth and held his stomach with the other.

Kyle turned to his mother. "Yeah, what he said."

"Well, that's nice, bubbe," Sheila sipped her coffee.

Taken aback by the lack of yelling and screaming, Kyle stumbled backwards to stand next to Stan. The other boy continued to hold his stomach.

"Are you alright, Stanley," Sharon asked, titling her head in concern. "It wasn't something you ate, was it?"

Stan shook his head.

"So, you guys are cool with this? With us?" Kyle asked incredulous pointing between him and Stan.

"Why wouldn't we be, son?" Gerald said from his place in the armchair.

"I-I don't know."

Stan looked at his own father who had yet to speak. Randy took another long swig of his beer. The man had listened patiently as his son revealed his sexuality and claimed he was now dating his best friend. As Randy examined his son, Stan shakily wrapped an arm around Kyle's waist. Mr. Marsh nodded, stood up from the couch, exited to the kitchen, and returned with a new can of beer. Stan's free hand hovered a few inches from his mouth, and Kyle found he could no longer look at anyone. They waited listening to the can snap open and fizz. Mr. Marsh took a long sip and then shrugged.

"So what else?" was all the man said when the silence hadn't been broken.

Stan dropped his hand and Kyle's head snapped up.

"So, what else what, Dad?" Stan asked slowly.

"What else do you have to tell us?"

"What do you mean what else do we have to tell you? This is it, Dad! Me and Kyle that's what we needed to tell you."

Randy took another sip of his beer. "Really? But we already knew that."

"What?" Stan and Kyle said together.

"Well, bubbe, you and Stanley spent so much time together, it was rather obvious," said Mrs. Broflovski taking a sip from her coffee mug. "I mean at first I thought you two, locking yourself in your room meant you might be doing illegal substances, but when you started wearing Stanley's letterman jacket that one month last fall, I put two and two together."

"Yeah," chimed in Kyle's father.

"I mean it's a shame you couldn't find a nice Jewish boy to date, but Stanley's a wonderful choice, dear," Sheila added smiling up at her son.

Randy took his seat on the arm rest. Sharon got up.

"Does anyone want some cake?" she asked smiling and making her way to the kitchen.

Stan held up his hands. "Whoa, whoa! So you guys are totally okay with this?"

"Like Gerald said, why wouldn't we be, Stanley?" beamed his mother.

"Aren't you going to yell at us and try to throw us out of the house?" Kyle asked looking at his parents.

"Do you want that, son?" Gerald replied, raising an eyebrow.

"No," Kyle said sheepishly.

"Good," said Sharon clapping her hands together. "Now, who wants cake? Oh and don't worry, Kyle dear, it's sugar free." She retreated to the kitchen.

"I'll help you, Sharon," said Mrs. Broflovski, getting to her feet.

Stan and Kyle moved to the couch and sat down next to Mr. Marsh. The man was just finishing up his new beer. Mr. Broflovski was skimming the magazines again. Randy leaned towards Stan, his voice lowered confidentially.

"So, between you and me, son, you're the pitcher, right?"

"DAD!" Stan roared. Gerald jumped in his seat dropping his magazine.

Kyle buried his face in his hands, groaning. Stan looked on the verge of vomiting once more.

After the outburst, the rest of the night continued without event.

* * *

><p>Kyle sat in Stan's lap his arms curled around the other boy's neck. Their lips were pressed together and Stan's fingers laced through Kyle's curls. A few seconds drifted between them before they pulled apart. They sat once more in the back room of the gym. Earlier that day Stan had emptied his sport's locker and stolen a barbell to prop open the back door. The two snuck in without incident.<p>

"This has been a good day," Stan stated offhandedly. Kyle chuckled resting his head against the other boy's shoulder.

A pause, then Kyle pulled out of his jacket pocket his green Psych journal.

"This week…," Kyle said. Stan didn't need him to finish the sentence to understand what he meant.

"Yeah, so your paper almost done?" Stan asked looking at the journal, but he already knew the answer. When it came to homework Kyle was an overachiever. After his week of tailing Kenny, he'd finished the project's paper in less than four hours.

Kyle flipped through his book.

"I never realized we'd ignored them for so long," continued the redhead, pausing on the fourth page of his book. "Kenny and Cartman, I mean."

Stan ruffled his hair thoughtfully. "Did we?"

"I guess…we were kind of absorbed with…other things…."

Stan nodded sagely, "Making out is serious business though, dude."

Kyle rolled his eyes.

"Did you know Kenny has a motorcycle? Did I tell you that?"

Stan shook his head. "You kept going on and on about him dumpster diving."

Kyle rubbed his bandaged nose absently thinking back to Kenny's orange retainer. "No, he's had a job since summer."

"Why didn't he tell us?"

"Dude, we were preoccupied that whole summer. We never saw Kenny or Cartman once. Just each other's bedrooms…."

"And the lake," Stan smiled. "The lake was fun."

Kyle blushed. "Yes, but anyway we really didn't get back in touch until September. Although, I'm not complaining about taking a break from Cartman."

"I do remember he seemed a bit pissed off at me when practice started back up. He tackled me pretty hard during a scrimmage match. I could have sworn he was trying to crack my ribs on purpose. But it's Cartman so I brushed it off."

Kyle closed his journal. He hadn't told Stan everything Cartman had revealed to him; he felt the information was best kept secret. At least for now.

Stan began trailing kisses up Kyle's neck.

"I don't think I'll ever understand," the shorter boy murmured. Stan looked up.

"Understand what? Cartman, Kenny, our parents?"

Kyle shook his head. "Anything in this town."

"True enough," Stan agreed, before he closed the distance between their lips once more.

* * *

><p>A few weeks later, Mr. Michaels' Psychology class gathered at the end of the day prepared to have their assignments graded and returned. Wendy had raced to the front of the class the minute the teacher made the announcement. She waited as Mr. Michaels shuffled through a large stack of papers and journals.<p>

"Hmm, I don't see a Tester here," said the aging teacher. Wendy huffed.

"It's Testabuger, sir," she corrected. Cartman laughed behind her back.

"Oh, here's a Testaburger. And Cartman and Broflovski."

The man held out the two papers. Kyle and Cartman moved forward at the same time to retrieve their work. Cartman grunted and shoved the shorter boy out of the way before Kyle reached the desk. Stumbling backwards Kyle fell into Token who helped right him.

"Dude, do you still have to do what he tells you?" the boy asked nodding his head towards Cartman who'd gotten into an argument with Wendy now that his assignment was returned. Stan stood off to the side looking helpless.

The redhead shook his head. "Nope."

Token glanced at Clyde and Jimmy who were watching the pair with interest. Clyde made a small motion with his hand as if egging Token on.

The black teen turned back to Kyle, who still stood before him flipping through his graded paper. He seemed relatively happy with the outcome.

"So, Kyle…," Token began. The redhead looked up. "You and Stan…?"

Kyle smiled.

"Yes."

Token nodded. "That's…uh…cool. Weird, but cool."

Stan walked over as the rest of the class exited the room. Mr. Michaels was already gone. As Token, Cylde, and Jimmy followed the other classmates out of the room, Kenny walked in a toolbox in one hand and his backpack in the other.

"Hey, dudes." He nodded towards Stan and Kyle.

Stan waved and then turned back to Kyle. "Dude, what'd you get? I got a B. I totally bull shitted the last two pages on my dad's questioning. He kept asking about…_us_."

Stan made a face and his boyfriend laughed.

Kyle showed Stan his journal paper. Kenny glanced over the black-haired boy's shoulder.

"Glad I could help with maintaining your excellent grade point average, Broflovski," Kenny gloated. Kyle rolled his eyes.

Cartman forced his way over. "Guess what, fags. Guess what I got."

"Dude, are you going to keep calling them that?" Kenny asked.

Eric spun towards his friend, smacking him in the head with his journal. "Duh, Kenny. He turned back to Stan and Kyle. "I bet I got a better score than you, Kahl."

"I got an okay grade," Kyle replied in monotone, showing off his paper. Cartman scowled at the other boy's grade for a few minutes and then returned his own paper into his bag.

"Well, what did you get, fatass?" asked Stan. Cartman zipped up his bag and threw it over his shoulder.

Without looking anyone in the eye, the fat teen replied, "I got better than Kahl that's what I got."

"Let's see it then." Stan said holding out his hand.

"I got like a 105."

"You did not," Kyle said frowning. "We could only get 100 out of the whole thing," he challenged. "What'd you get? You did your paper on me, so I deserve to see what grade you got."

Kyle tried to tug the zipper of Cartman's backpack open, but the larger boy shook him off and sprinted for the door.

Turning at the exit, he addressed his friends, "Whatever, douchebags. I don't need to prove anything to you."

"I bet you got a D!" Kenny laughed. Kyle and Stan nodded in agreement, smiling.

"Nuh uh, Kenny, I got an A! And if you guys don't believe me, then screw you, I'mma goin' home!"

And he disappeared into the hallway.

"I don't like the idea that he may have fucked up a paper he wrote about me," Kyle mused.

"Oh, well," Stan shrugged stooping to pick up his and Kyle's bags. He threw his own over his shoulder. Kyle reached for his backpack, but Stan held it away from him.

Stan blushed. "I want to carry it today. Er…for you."

Kyle smiled. "Okay."

Kenny pulled his hood up, rolling his eyes at the same time.

"God, you guys are _so_ gay."

"You're just jealous, dude."

Kenny made a face and mimed feeling up a pair of breast.

"Sadly, neither of you has those. But that reminds me, Stan, since you're into dudes now, you wouldn't mind if I tried to get into Wendy's bra, right?"

"DUDE!"

"I'll take that as a yes," laughed Kenny as he bolted for the door. Stan sprinted after him.

Kyle walked to the exit, examining his journal once more and admiring the nice, green scrawled 100 over the top of the first page, although in a footnote Mr. Michaels warned about over exaggeration especially on page four.

Kyle smiled. His mom would be pleased with the grade. He left the room, shutting the lights off as he did.

* * *

><p>Thank you again for reading. I hope you enjoyed the story. I hope the ending was satisfying!<p>

_**Thanks again for all the feedback. Please feel free to review, comment, and give constructive criticism**_.


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